Original Sin
by BookwormBaby2580
Summary: What makes a man irredeemable? USC student Bella Swan finds herself asking that question when she gets involved with the sexy, yet tight-lipped Dr. Carlisle Cullen, a man living in a self-imposed purgatory for the undisclosed crimes of his past.
1. Flesh and Bone

**IllicitWriter was kind enough to make me a banner for this story! There's a link in my profile, or you can play the copy/paste/edit game with this: http (colon slash slash) i1083 (dot) photobucket (dot) com/albums/j382/BookwormBaby2580/ (dot) png?t=1316541880**

**Of course, Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**

* * *

><p><strong>1. Flesh and Bone<strong>

"Harder! Fuck, Mike, harder!" I fisted my hands around the sheets, leaning forward on my elbows as Mike knelt behind me on the bed, driving into me. His hand was splayed on my back, pushing me down onto the mattress, while the other gripped my hip, holding me steady as he growled a filthy stream of profanity.

God, he was so unbelievably good at this.

He complied eagerly with my request, increasing the power behind his thrusts, and I practically screamed in pleasure. "Fuck! It feels so good!" I was right on the edge, just needing a little nudge, and he gave it to me when his hands moved to my shoulders, slamming me back against him.

"Yes! God, Mike!" I threw my head back, arching my back as I came, crying out wordlessly through clenched teeth. Mike rode me through my orgasm, keeping his pace strong and steady until my body sagged beneath him. He was right behind me, his hips pumping erratically as he found his release. He was even sexy when he came, letting out a guttural growl, his movements controlled and demanding.

I mean, _fuck._ He was _so_ good.

Mike rolled off of me, tugging me with him until I had scooted around and was snuggled against his side. I rubbed my hand over his chest, feeling the rise and fall under my fingers as he panted from exertion.

"Damn, baby," he smiled, "you give a man a workout." He slipped off his condom and tied it up, tossing it into a trash can by the bed and grabbing some tissues from the bedside table to clean up.

I just smiled and sighed happily. I knew I should go, but I wasn't quite ready to leave the warmth of his body. I had been with Mike for over a year, had been living with him for the past three months, and I still couldn't seem to get enough of him.

I traced a finger around his nipple, remembering the first time I had seen him. I had just started school at USC, and I was still overwhelmed by the transition from small-town life in Forks to the huge, busy campus. I was sitting in the front row of a large auditorium for a general education statistics class, feeling young, naïve, and completely out of my league, when he had caught my eye from the front of the room. He had given me a quick once-over and winked at me before turning back to the professor to discuss his TA duties for the class.

A little thrill had run up my spine. I hadn't really been one to get a lot of attention from boys in high school. I had been on a couple of awkward dates, and had even lost my virginity in a mediocre tumble in a hotel room on prom night. But I couldn't exactly call myself experienced, and any little show of attention left me blushing bright red.

It was something I had to get used to. Though I had been the ugly duckling in high school, I had apparently managed to grow into my name, because all of a sudden, guys were noticing me. And not just awkward high school guys. For the next several weeks, I had found myself being flirted with, catered to, asked out . . . and a fair number of these interactions occurred in my statistics class. Time and time again, I had blushed and agreed to a date with a guy, only to look up and find Mike's eyes on me, a knowing smile playing around his lips.

Finally, after about a month and a half, and after I had made yet another date after class, he strolled up to me and leaned on the small fold-out desk in front of me.

"Are you busy tonight?" he asked me, his blue eyes locking on mine.

It was Friday. I hadn't had a free Friday night since I had started college. "Yes," I told him, my stomach fluttering with nerves. Something about the way he looked at me left me feeling weak and light-headed.

"What about tomorrow night?"

"Also busy."

"Cancel," he said, his gaze still intense.

I blushed and looked down, unable to take the weight of his stare. "I can't just cancel."

"Why not?"

I tried to look up at him again, but I quickly dropped my gaze. He was completely unnerving. "It's rude."

He didn't say anything, and for several long seconds I waited, my cheeks burning from the blush that rose so easily to my face. I finally raised my eyes to him, seeing him smirking down at me. He reached out and deliberately took my pen from me, holding my hand in his as he wrote a series of numbers on the back. He capped the pen and handed it back to me.

"When you get tired of playing with your little boys, you give me a call," he said, and sauntered away.

I didn't cancel my dates. It was hard, but I didn't. I went out with Eric, and then with Tyler, and I enjoyed their company immensely . . . at least, I did when I wasn't thinking about Mike. And the next week, after taking several days to work up my nerve, I called him.

That was it for me. We dated casually at first—or anyway, _he_ dated_ me_ casually, and I pretended to feel the same. But I was committed to him right from the start, and I waited patiently for him to decide that he was committed to me, too.

And he did. After several months he and I were together all the time, staying over at each other's apartments every night, and when our second spring semester together started, we finally decided it was time we just moved in together. My dad was pissed, my mom was elated, and I was just _happy._

I could feel that happiness flowing all through my body now, but as much as I enjoyed lying here beside him in post-orgasmic bliss, I had things to do. "I need to go," I said, reluctantly.

"Don't." He grabbed the hand that rested on his chest. "Stay home tonight."

"I can't. Finals are coming up, I need to put in some serious study time."

"Studying is overrated," he grinned, tucking his hands under his head.

"Not when you have a scholarship to maintain." I pushed off of the bed and moved to the bathroom to clean up, then returned and grabbed my clothes off of the floor.

"How come you always study at the library?" he pouted.

As if he didn't know. "Because when I study here, you distract me," I grinned, tugging on my clothes. "I can't get anything done because you keep dragging me back to the bedroom."

He smirked. "Tell you what? Take those clothes back off and go study on the couch, and I'll just keep myself entertained while you work."

"Right," I snorted. "I'm leaving." I leaned down for a quick kiss, but of course he didn't let me get away with that. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down on top of him and pinning me against his chest as I giggled and struggled to break free.

"Michael Newton, behave yourself!" I laughed. "God, you would think after four months of living together you'd be used to me leaving in the evenings."

"I'm used to it," he sighed, releasing me. "But that doesn't mean I like it." He sat up, running his hand through his sex-tousled hair. "Go be a good girl and do your homework. I'll be at the bar late, so I won't be here when you get home."

"'Kay. Love you." I headed out the door and locked up behind me before driving to Doheny Memorial Library.

My truck was one of very few things that I didn't pay for with the living stipend that came with my scholarship. Those dollars only stretched so far, and transportation wasn't something that I could make them cover. I had intended to rely on public transportation at school, but Charlie was extremely uncomfortable with that notion. He had insisted on helping me drive my truck all the way to Los Angeles, and he paid my insurance and my gas card so that I would never find myself without a ride. It was such a Charlie thing to do, making sure I was safe and protected, and every time I thought about it, it made me smile.

And I had to admit, it did make it easier to study where I could focus. Every night, Monday through Friday, I got away from the irresistible distraction that was Mike's body and headed to the library to do my schoolwork. There were a few regulars that I tended to see there every night, or on particular nights of the week, and being creatures of habit, we all had favorite tables where we liked to sit. My place was at the corner of a table for six, where I could spread out with all my books. At the table to my right, a couple who had been together as long as I had been coming to the library would work together and quiz each other quietly on test questions. I thought it was tremendously sweet. To my left, an older blond man always sat, taking up even more space than I did. He would fill his entire six-person table with haphazard stacks of books, reference materials, and loose pages, and he would occasionally stop typing at his laptop and move around the table, reading and checking his materials. I was curious about what he was writing, but I had never interrupted him to ask.

Lately, though, with finals coming up, we regulars hadn't always been able to get our usual seats. More and more students were taking to to the library to cram, and the place had become almost as distracting as my apartment.

Okay, not quite. I shook my head and laughed to myself as I pictured Mike's naked body. The library would never be _that_ distracting.

But I was a little late getting there tonight, due to our impromptu tumble in the sheets, and when I got to my regular space, I saw that it was packed full. Students sat in every available seat, and even the regular Study Couple had been relegated to a single study carrel across the room from where they preferred to be. The only available chairs were at the table with the older blond man, who had apparently managed to get there early enough that he could still spread out over the whole table. He was typing away at his laptop, his tie loosened and his blue Oxford shirt open at the collar, as usual.

I bit my lip, gathering my nerve to speak to him. I had always been shy, and I really didn't want to disturb him, but at this point I didn't have much choice.

_Bella, stop being ridiculous,_ I chided myself. He had always been perfectly nice, with the occasional nod-and-smile greeting. Once he had even held the door for me when we were both leaving at the same time.

I took a deep breath, scanning the room one more time for any other places that might be available to sit. There was nothing, though, and I edged uncomfortably toward his table, stopping at the opposite corner from where he sat.

"Um . . . I'm sorry to bother you."

His eyes raised, but looked more _through_ me than at me, as his fingers continued to tap away at his laptop. For a moment he typed, not-looking at me, and then his fingers stilled and his eyes snapped into focus. "Hm?" He raised his eyebrows, still looking distracted.

I gestured to the chair in front of me. "Would you mind?" I asked anxiously. "Sorry, it's a little busy today."

"Oh, not at all." He jumped up from his chair and started moving his things out of the way, clearing a space for me to work. He had to stack papers and open texts together, but he didn't seem to mind. "Pardon me, I know I make sort of a mess," he said, looking a little sheepish.

"This is great," I said when he had opened up a couple of feet of empty space in front of the chair. "I really appreciate it."

He glanced around the room, seeming surprised to see so many people there. "It's a bit busy in here tonight."

"You get pretty focused, don't you?" I laughed.

He gave me a charming smile as he settled into his seat again, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "I'm afraid I do."

Damn. He was kind of hot. I had never noticed that before.

I tugged out my own laptop and a textbook, arranging them in front of me. "I'll try not to bother you," I promised him.

He flashed me another smile and returned to his work.

The evening passed pleasantly. We each worked silently, though I always thought it was amusing when he moved around the table to check his reference materials, and once I held a couple of books for him while he fished out a text that had been stacked underneath them. But for the most part we left each other alone, as usual, and when I had crammed more knowledge into my head than I could actually retain, I bid him goodbye and headed home.

I showered and pulled on a pair of shorts and one of Mike's old T-shirts, and I was heading to bed when I spotted a little sampler box of Aplets and Cotlets on my pillow. My jaw dropped open as I moved to pick it up. I _loved_ the little candied fruits, but I had only ever seen them in Washington. How Mike had gotten ahold of them here in California I didn't know, but he deserved one serious blow job for it.

There was a folded sheet of note paper beneath the box, and I picked it up, opening it and reading the note scrawled on it.

_Love you forever. –Mike_

"Mike, you're the best!" I squealed, even though he wasn't there to hear me. I set the box on the bedside table and scooted under the covers, planning to do something extra special for him to thank him for his thoughtfulness.


	2. Samaritan

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

* * *

><p><strong>2. Samaritan<strong>

The next day went pretty much like the one before. I treated Mike to that blow job before heading off to the library, which was packed full once again. The blond man saw me walk in this time and after a quick glance around the room, smiled and cleared some space away from the corner chair again, allowing me room to sit and work.

"Thanks," I laughed.

"Not at all."

He was fidgety today. He spent a lot of time leaning back in his chair, alternately tapping his foot or running a hand through his hair. I looked up from a page of notes I was reviewing at one point to see him staring off into space.

"You're not as focused today," I commented.

He grimaced. "Writer's block."

"Ah. That sucks."

He nodded in agreement.

I went back to my notes while he typed a few things, then deleted them, then typed again. After a few minutes he pushed away from the table and stood up. "I'm going to run down to the café for some coffee," he said. "Would you mind making sure the librarians don't come around and re-shelve my materials?" He flashed me another dimpled smile.

"No problem."

His concern wasn't unwarranted. In the few minutes he was gone, two very helpful librarians offered to put away the books that littered the table. I sent them on their way, smiling to myself.

The man returned after a few minutes and set a coffee cup in front of me. I looked up in surprise and smiled. "Thanks," I told him.

He smiled back and set two cups of cream and two sugar packets in front of me before seating himself at his computer again, sipping his own coffee.

I considered reciprocating by sharing my Aplets and Cotlets as I poured the creams into my cup, but they were a precious commodity this far from Washington. If he wanted candied fruit, he'd have to get his own.

We worked for a while longer, but when my brain once again reached its saturation point, I packed up my things. "Thanks for the coffee," I told the man. "And good luck with your writing."

He looked up from his computer screen and smiled. "Thank you. Have a pleasant evening."

I turned and headed for the door, deciding that I liked his voice.

I was missing Mike, so I steered the car toward the Nine-Oh instead of home, driving the fifteen minutes that it took to get out to the club where he worked. I wasn't actually old enough to get in, but the bouncers there knew me by now, and knew I wasn't going to try to drink, so they would let me in to sit at the bar and chat with Mike while he worked. I parked and gave Felix a kiss on the cheek as he ushered me inside, then made my way to the bar.

The 901 Club was one of the more popular bars in the area. It had once been a particularly grungy dive, but had recently undergone massive renovations that had classed it up into a fairly nice sports bar. It was particularly hot during football season, but that was over now and there were no other games tonight, so it wasn't too crazy. I found a free stool at the bar and watched as Mike pulled a couple of draft beers for some girls at the other end of the counter. He glanced up and spotted me as he sent them on their way, grinning widely.

"Hey, baby, I'll be right there," he said. He threw together a couple of drinks and passed them, plus four bottles of beer, across the counter to a waiting waitress, before wiping his hands and moving over to me. He grabbed a can of Coke from under the bar on the way and cracked it open for me.

"Thanks," I smiled, taking it from him. "How's it going tonight?"

He shrugged. "Sort of slow. Everybody's studying."

I laughed. "No kidding. The people who usually hang out in your bar are spending the night in _my_ library."

He smirked, leaning across the counter for a kiss. "You can always study here. And on my breaks I'll take you back into the storeroom and give you a little treat."

"There's an idea."

"Oh, I wanted to talk to you," he said. "My car's been acting up again. Can I borrow your truck tomorrow so I can take it into the shop?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. "Aren't you working tomorrow, though?"

"Nah, just during the day, but it means you'd have to take the bus home after class."

I shrugged. "That's cool, I'll just stay on campus and go right to the library after class."

He smiled at me. "You're the best, baby."

"Well, you know, those Applets and Cotlets will get you a long way," I winked.

He moved down the bar to help a new customer, and for a few minutes I just watched him mix drinks and chat with the people who came to the bar. Mike was one of those magnetic personalities who just drew everyone to him, and it was a pleasure to watch him work. The next time he had a free moment, though, I waved him over and leaned in for another kiss. "I'm going to go," I told him. "I'll see you at home."

He brushed my chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, love, be safe."

"I will," I promised. "And I'll be thinking of you while I get myself off in the shower."

He grinned at me as I headed out the door.

* * *

><p>The next morning I followed Mike to the mechanic, and then surrendered my keys to him so he could drive me to campus for my first class.<p>

"Pick me up at the library at ten," I told him as I hopped out of the cab.

He shifted the car into park and crawled across the bench seat to claim one more searing kiss. "I'll be here," he breathed.

God, I loved him so much. I watched him drive away, my stomach fluttering with happiness.

The feeling sustained me through three final exams, and though I was exhausted, I was still floating as I made my way to the library. I passed the bookstore on the way and spotted something in the window that made me stop and take a closer look. On display was a little collection of three-inch tall figurines, goofy and brightly-colored. The placards in front of them declared them to be the Muses, naming them individually and explaining their areas of patronage. They were only four dollars a piece, and I couldn't help myself. I slipped inside and decided on Clio, the Muse of history, based on the archaeology texts I had seen scattered over the table the last couple of days. I paid the clerk and headed off to the library.

It wasn't nearly as busy today, probably due to the early hour. Many students would still be sitting for their exams. My usual table was claimed by a group of people speaking sign language to each other, though, so I couldn't reclaim my space. At least they were quiet. I took a seat at the table next to it and spread out, starting in on cramming for my last final.

I worked for about an hour before the blond man arrived, toting his laptop and an armful of books. "You're early today," he commented, moving to his chair. "May I hope you saved me a seat?"

I gathered my things and stuffed them into my bag. "All yours," I told him, gesturing to the table.

"Thank you," he said brightly. He didn't sit down yet, though. He riffled through a book until he found a scrap of paper, and then disappeared into the stacks several times, collecting books and periodicals and depositing them onto the table. Finally he seemed satisfied, and he tucked his list away, settling himself into his chair.

"I brought you something," I told him before he could get involved in his project. I dug in my bag and pulled out the little Muse statuette, setting it on top of a short stack of books between us.

He picked it up and looked at it curiously, then laughed out loud as he read what she was. "Just what I needed," he grinned. He opened his laptop and arranged her carefully above the keyboard at one side of the screen, his eyes sparkling. "Let's hope she helps me out a little today."

The little Muse seemed to do her job. He spent a lot more time typing than he had the day before, and I couldn't help but feel pleased as I finished my studying.

I forced myself to stay buried in books and notes until the clock read ten, then packed up my things. The man saw me getting ready to go and picked up the little figurine I had brought him. "I owe you for this," he said with a grin. "She's very effective."

"Call it payback for the coffee," I smiled.

He chuckled and put her back in her place. "See you tomorrow."

I headed down the stairs and out to the parking lot, searching for my truck. I didn't see it there, so I found a plot of grass and sat down to wait.

When I hadn't heard from Mike after about ten minutes, I pulled out my phone and called his cell. I got no answer, and I hoped he was on his way and had just forgotten his phone. I hefted my bag onto my shoulder and paced slowly up and down the sidewalk for about five more minutes. I called his cell again, and still got no answer.

I chewed at my lip, hoping he hadn't been called in to work, and I started thinking about other ways to get home. The city buses didn't go anywhere near our apartment, and I just didn't have the money to take a cab. I called home again, huffing in frustration when it once again went to voice mail.

"Is everything okay?"

I turned back toward the familiar voice. The blond man I had spent the last three evenings with was striding toward the parking lot, once again laden with books.

I gave him a weak smile. "My ride didn't show up."

He nodded toward the phone in my hand. "I assume you've called."

"Yeah. No answer."

He came up beside me and stopped, shifting his pile of books into one arm. "Is there anyone else you could call?"

I frowned thoughtfully. There was always Jacob. He had started at USC a year before me, and in fact had been the final factor that made me decide to come here. I hadn't actually talked to him much lately, though, and he lived all the way down in Orange County, which was a good half hour drive if the traffic was decent. Plus, since he usually worked early in the morning he would probably be in bed by now.

The man saw my indecision. "Why don't you let me drive you home?" he suggested.

I considered his offer, but I realized there was a problem with that too. "Shit!" I hissed. "He has my keys!"

He raised his eyebrows. "He?"

"My boyfriend," I explained. "He borrowed my truck today, so I gave him my keys. _All_ of them, including the one to my apartment."

"Is there an on-call maintenance person who might be able to let you in?"

I tried to remember if I had seen a phone number for that on the office window. "I'm not sure," I admitted. "Maybe."

"I'll tell you what?" he offered. "I'll give you a lift to your apartment, and we'll see if we can get you in. If not, you can call a friend, or perhaps get a motel room for the night."

I looked at him in indecision. Charlie would blow a gasket if he knew I accepted a ride from someone I didn't know.

He seemed to know where my mind was going. "We're not exactly strangers," he said, smiling crookedly. "I've seen you here several times a week, all semester long, and I haven't assaulted you even once."

I laughed self-consciously, and he held out his hand.

"I'm Dr. Cullen," he said. "Professor of Archaeology, Anthropology, and Religious Studies."

I clasped his hand. "Bella Swan," I told him, then smiled ruefully. "And I'll never be in any of your classes."

"Just as well. I understand I'm dreadfully boring." He nodded for me to follow him and started toward the parking lot again.

"Can I help you with those?" I asked, reaching for the stack of books.

He let me take a sizeable portion. "Thank you," he said. "Who needs the gym when you've got reference materials?" He stopped at a little black Kia and fished a set of keys out of his bag, popping the trunk. I was a little surprised, at first, that he was driving a such low-end car. I had walked through enough faculty lots at the school to know that USC professors tended toward luxury sedans and sports cars. His simple taste in automobiles humanized him a little.

"What are you writing?" I asked curiously.

"It's a manuscript on end-of-the-world predictions in ancient and modern times," he said, lowering his books into the trunk. He took the ones I was carrying from me and set them inside as well, then shrugged off his laptop bag and slid it in. "I'm sure it'll be just as dull as all of my classes, and yet, I find it fascinating." He grinned brightly as he closed the trunk.

"Whatever keeps you entertained."

"Well, that, and publishing helps me maintain my tenure," he said as he moved around the car to open my door for me. He offered me his hand and helped me into my seat before rounding the car and sliding in beside me.

"Where to?" he asked as he started the engine.

I gave him directions to my apartment, and he maneuvered his car smoothly out of the lot.

"How are your finals coming?" he asked conversationally.

"Good, so far," I said. "At least, I think so. I've felt pretty confident about the tests I've taken."

"How many do you have left?"

"Just one," I said. "Tomorrow morning."

He raised his eyebrows. "Shall I assume I won't see you in the library tomorrow night, then?"

"Oh no, I'll be there. I'll be decompressing with a novel rather than studying, but I'm enough of a nerd that I voluntarily spend week nights in the library, even when I don't have homework."

He laughed appreciatively. "So what's you're last test?"

"It's a tough one. Linguistics with Dr. Berty."

Dr. Cullen smirked. "A bit of advice. Keep your answers relatively simple."

"Why's that?" I asked, surprised. Details were usually better.

He rolled his eyes. "Berty assigns these essay tests, but he doesn't like to grade them and he won't trust a TA to do it. It annoys him to have to read detailed information over and over again. Trust me, just stick to the basics."

I chuckled. "I'll take your advice. Dr. Berty is. . . ." I hesitated, searching for a word that wouldn't be too offensive.

"A pompous ass?" Dr. Cullen supplied. He grinned at my surprised expression. "The geniuses usually are."

I laughed and changed the subject. "So if you're a Professor of Religious Studies, does that mean you're religious?"

"No," he said, "but it does mean I'm an insufferable know-it-all on all subjects pertaining to worship rituals."

"Oh, good," I said earnestly. "Everyone likes an insufferable know-it-all, especially at parties."

"I'm very popular," he nodded, just as seriously.

I giggled, suddenly very glad I had accepted his offer of a ride home. I had spent the entire semester sitting not ten feet from this man four nights a week, and I hadn't had any idea how _fun_ he was.

We bantered back and forth until he pulled his car into my apartment complex and parked.

"My truck's here," I frowned. "Maybe Mike is home, and just wasn't answering his phone."

He slid out of the car and came around to offer me a hand out, and the two of us headed up to the building. My apartment was right at the front on the third floor, and I could see the lights on in the living room and bedroom. I frowned at them and pulled open the door to step into the breezeway. Dr. Cullen followed me inside and up the stairs, and I moved to my door and knocked.

For a moment everything was silent, then I heard a thump and a loud curse. There were uneven footsteps to the door, and suddenly it swung open. Mike stood there in just his boxer shorts, rubbing his knee and grimacing.

"Bella!" he exclaimed when he saw me. "Shit! I fell asleep and totally forgot to come get you! Baby, I'm so sorry!" He limped forward, gathering me into his arms.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He stepped back, rubbing his knee again. "Yeah, when you knocked it startled me. I fell off the couch and hit my knee." He poked out his lip forlornly, and I had to laugh.

"Poor baby, we'll put some ice on it."

He looked up then, noticing Dr. Cullen for the first time. "Hey," he said, frowning a little. "What's up?"

"Oh, Mike, this is Dr. Cullen. He gave me a ride home."

"Aw, thanks, man." Mike limped over to him and shook his hand.

Dr. Cullen nodded cordially. "It was my pleasure. You two have a nice evening."

I smiled at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave me a wave and headed back down the stairs.

Mike watched him until he was out of sight. "Who is that?" he asked. "One of your professors?"

"Uh, no, he's somebody I see in the library all the time. Let's get some ice on your knee."

"Naw, sweetie, it's just a bruise, don't worry about it." He was still looking after Dr. Cullen. "So you don't know that guy, but you let him give you a ride home?"

I prickled at the disapproval in his voice. "You didn't leave me with a lot of options, Mike."

He was instantly contrite. "I'm so sorry," he said, following me inside. "You're right, it's totally my fault. I put you in a really bad position." He grabbed my hands and led me over to the couch. "Let me make it up to you." He pushed me firmly down onto the cushions, and then went to the kitchen, grabbing a pudding cup and a spoon and bringing them back to me.

I took it, giving him a curious look. "You bought pudding?"

He shrugged, grinning. "I had a craving." He settled onto the floor in front of me and unlaced my sneakers, pulling them off and setting them aside. He stripped off my socks as well, and his hands started working at one foot, rubbing it firmly.

I moaned softly. "That feels so good."

"Yeah?" he asked. "How were your finals today?"

I ate my pudding and told him about how my tests went, and asked about his as he moved on to my other foot. Mike wasn't at USC on scholarship, which meant he could afford to be a little less obsessive about his grades, but he was pretty sure he had maintained his C average and was on track for graduation. He was scheduled to walk with his class the next Monday, and as it was Wednesday now, the time was drawing close. For a month our apartment had been littered with cap and gown order forms, class ring catalogues, and graduation announcements that were in the process of being addressed and mailed. I was stressing over a graduation gift, since everything I really wanted to get him was way too expensive for my unemployed self. I was considering going to Renee to try and make a withdrawal from the First National Bank of Mom, but I hadn't quite convinced myself to do it yet.

When my pudding was finished and my feet thoroughly massaged, Mike stepped it up a bit. His hands slid up my legs to my waist, and he popped open the button of my jeans.

I shook my head weakly. "Mike, I need to get to bed. I have an early test tomorrow."

"This'll only take a few minutes," he assured me. "I know how to get you there quick when I want to."

That was true, but _he_ wasn't so quick. "And what about you?" I asked him.

"Don't worry about me, this is for you." He hooked his fingers over the waistband of my jeans and panties, and I lifted my hips to allow him to pull them down. He stripped them off and then moved his hands to my knees, gently pressing them apart. He slid his arms under them and gripped my thighs, tugging me forward on the couch cushions to give him better access.

"Mmm, I love this pussy," he groaned, his warm breath tickling the bare skin between my thighs.

I could already feel myself getting wet, and when his soft tongue began stroking my folds, I moaned in pleasure.

"God, you taste good, girl," he breathed. His tongue swiped my clit, making me catch my breath, and he set up a steady rhythm, circling it, then flicking it playfully with his tongue.

"Fuck, Mike!" I choked. "That feels so good!"

He pressed his lips to my clit and moaned, and the vibrations made me squirm under his mouth. "God, yes!"

I felt two fingers slide inside of me, and I cried out wordlessly, rocking against him. He worked my clit as he plunged his fingers in and out, in and out, his free hand gripping my hip as I moved against him. Every thrust of his hand, every swipe of his tongue, pushed me closer and closer to the edge, until I cried out in pleasure the orgasm ripping through my body. I ground against his mouth, finding the glorious friction I sought, and pleasured myself with his lips and fingers until the wave of desire ebbed and I sagged back in exhaustion.

Mike took a moment more, licking away the residue of my orgasm with his caressing tongue, then sat back with a pleased grin. "Damn, I love how you sound when you come."

I laughed, unable to help the blush that spread across my cheeks. He had opened me up quite a bit, sexually speaking, but it was hard to shake some of the self-consciousness that I still held.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes bright and adoring. "I'm so lucky to have you, baby."

I smiled and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting my own tart flavor. "I'm pretty damn lucky to have you, too," I told him. "I love you."

He kissed me again, deeper this time, slipping his tongue into my mouth to dance playfully with my own for just a moment, before pulling away. He grabbed the forgotten pudding cup and spoon and took them to the kitchen, then returned and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, baby, let's get you to bed."

"Are you sure you don't need me to. . . ." I trailed off, gesturing shyly to the bulge in his shorts.

"I'm good," he said, shaking his head. "That was just for you, love."

I smiled at his term of endearment. I had never had boyfriends who used them before, but Mike always had some sweet little nickname. Baby, sweetie, love . . . he called me those more often than he called me by my name. I loved it. He was always reminding me that I was important to him.

He led me to the bathroom and helped me finish undressing for my shower, and then when I shut off the water he reappeared and helped me dry off. He stayed with me while I brushed my teeth and pulled on my pajamas, then tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight. "I love you, Bella," he murmured. "So much."


	3. Pearls Before Swine

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

* * *

><p><strong>3. Pearls Before Swine<strong>

The next morning was exhausting. Dr. Berty's test was by far the most rigorous one on my schedule, and it took me nearly the full four allotted hours to finish it, even taking Dr. Cullen's advice and sticking with basics and generalities. I was a little nervous about how it would come out, since Dr. Berty seemed to be a tough grader, but at this point all I could do was hope.

I grabbed lunch on campus, using some of what was left on my dining plan for the semester, and when I was finished I headed over to the library. Finals were winding down, so I didn't expect to see many people there today, and my favored seat for the semester was available. I took it, feeling just a little twinge of regret that I wouldn't have an excuse to sit with Dr. Cullen today, but I shruggeded it off. He would still be there, just a couple of yards away, and today I would be able to greet him by name. That made things much nicer than they were yesterday.

I pulled out a copy of _Sense and Sensibility_ and settled back into my chair with my knees braced against the table ledge and my book propped against them. I could sit like this for hours, lost in my fictional world, and that was exactly what I intended to do.

It almost worked. I was thoroughly enjoying my wind-down from finals, but every time anyone walked into the library, I looked up to see who it was. Once during the early afternoon, a girl sat at Dr. Cullen's table, and I had to hold myself back from barking at her to go sit somewhere else. Thankfully, she didn't stay long, but I continued to look up any time anyone else came near. I was inexplicably eager to see my new friend.

He didn't disappoint me. He showed up around three o'clock, carrying a much lighter load than he had the day before—just his laptop bag and two books. I smiled brightly at him as he set his books down, and he gave me a friendly nod.

"How did your test go?" he asked.

"Ugh." I dropped my head back dramatically. "It was murder. I'm seriously scared for my grade."

He smiled, but I couldn't help but notice that it didn't quite reach his eyes. As he had the day before, he found a list in one of his texts and looked over it. He hesitated, and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something, but then he shook his head and started toward the stacks. He stopped after a few steps, looking indecisive.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him.

He turned his head to look at me, his expression pained. "Bella, would you join me downstairs for a cup of coffee?"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise at the offer. Dr. Cullen was asking me to have coffee with him?

He suddenly seemed to realize how it sounded, and he backpedaled. "I don't mean to be inappropriate," he said. "I just have something I'd like to discuss with you, and this isn't really the best place for it."

I shrugged. "Okay."

He tucked away his list and gathered up his things again, and I followed him down to the café in the courtyard. He set his books on a table and pulled out a chair for me. "Have a seat, I'll be right back."

I sat and watched him as he ordered and picked up our drinks, and smiled as he grabbed two creamers for me and brought them back. He remembered how I took my coffee. It was somehow very sweet of him to have noticed.

He settled himself into the chair across from me and tapped his fingers anxiously against the side of his cup. I waited patiently as I doctored my drink, puzzled over his unsettled demeanor. Whatever he wanted to talk about clearly made him uncomfortable.

"Bella," he began hesitantly, then stopped, frowning. "Listen, I don't know anything about your relationship, and it's not really my place to interfere. . . ."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "My relationship? You mean with Mike?"

He nodded.

"Okay," I said, prompting him to go on.

"When I was leaving your apartment last night," he said carefully, "I saw . . ." He seemed reluctant to say whatever it was he had asked me down here to say.

"You saw what?" I asked.

His brow furrowed. "I saw a young woman climbing out of your bedroom window onto the fire escape."

I stared at him blankly. "Are you saying you think someone broke into my apartment?" I asked him.

He frowned. "She wasn't . . . dressed."

I blinked, not quite understanding. "She was, like, naked?"

He gave me an apologetic look. "She was carrying her clothes."

It took a moment for his implication to sink in. "So . . . _oh._" My stomach twisted, and I shook my head, trying to make his words go away. "No. No way. There's no way Mike cheated on me. He's, like . . . perfect."

He dropped his eyes, tapping at his coffee cup again.

"He didn't," I said. I had to make him believe me. If he believed me, it would be true. "You had to have made a mistake. Maybe it was the wrong balcony?"

He cleared his throat softly, not looking up. "Yours is the one on the third floor with the 901 Club banner?" he asked quietly.

My stomach lurched again. Mike had hung that banner when he had first started working at the Nine-Oh. "He wouldn't," I insisted. "He _couldn't._"

"Perhaps you're right," Dr. Cullen relented, though it was clear he didn't believe it. "I may have made a mistake."

I stared at him, unable to shake the image of a girl climbing through my bedroom window, clutching her clothes to her chest, while in the living room Mike knelt in front of me, his head buried between my thighs. . . .

"I think I'm going to be sick."

I stumbled from the table and rushed to the bathroom, falling in front of the toilet and throwing up the contents of my stomach. I heaved over and over again, even after there was nothing left, and then I just knelt in front of the toilet, staring blankly at the wall.

_Mike cheated on me._

I was slowly starting to accept it, but I didn't want to. I loved Mike. I _loved_ Mike! He was _it_, he was my forever. How could he do that to me? Didn't he feel the same way I did? How could that be possible? It had never even occurred to me that he might not be as happy in our relationship as I was. He _seemed_ happy. He said he loved me. He never gave me any reason to doubt him or make me think he was lying.

Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe Dr. Cullen was. How well did I know him, after all? Maybe he just liked messing with people. Maybe he was hoping I'd get mad and fuck him for revenge.

And maybe I was seriously grasping at straws.

I pushed myself off of the floor and moved to the sink, rinsing out my mouth and scrubbing my hands. _Ugh_. There was nothing more disgusting than kneeling in front of a public toilet. I felt dirty all over, outside and in, but I cleaned up as well as I could and moved out of the bathroom again.

My eyes found the café table where Dr. Cullen was still sitting. He looked miserable. I couldn't believe he was lying, but maybe he was mistaken.

I really, _really_ wanted him to be mistaken.

I walked unsteadily to the table and sank down into my seat. Dr. Cullen looked at me, a deep sadness in his eyes, but he didn't speak.

"I don't know what to do now," I admitted.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I guess you probably need to talk to him," he said softly.

"And say what? 'Hey Mike, you remember yesterday when you were supposed to be picking me up? Were you fucking some other girl instead?'"

He smiled sadly. "Pretty much."

"And then what happens?" My hands trembled as I stared down a future that suddenly looked unsure.

"That's up to you," he said gently. "If this is really what it looks like, you need to decide if that's the end of your relationship, or if you want to try and work things out with him."

I blew out my breath in a puff. "Why would I work it out with him if he's a cheater?"

His eyes lowered again, and his hands fiddled with the coffee cup on the table in front of him. "Most people aren't irredeemable, Bella. Mistakes are made. You're the only one who can decide what you can forgive."

He sounded an awful lot like he spoke from experience. "Have you ever been cheated on?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

"Ever cheated on anyone?"

His looked up at me from under lowered lashes, his sad smile back again. Once again, he shook his head.

I sighed heavily. "I need to go home."

"Do you need a ride?" he asked me.

"No." I fished my keys out of my backpack. "I've got my truck today."

He nodded.

I picked up the coffee that he had bought me and took several long gulps before setting it back down on the table. "Thanks," I told him. "I mean, it sucked, but. . . ."

"I understand," he murmured. "Good luck, Bella."

I left him there and headed out to the lot to climb into my truck.

_Fuck._

Mike was working a double shift at the bar, so it would be hours before he got home. I had no idea what I was supposed to do for those hours, but I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything, and I sure as hell wouldn't be able to sleep.

I drove home and started my wait with a shower. I still didn't feel clean enough, though, and as soon as I got out I started cleaning the apartment. I picked up all the clutter, threw away the trash, did the dishes . . . and it wasn't even six yet. So I started the deeper cleaning. I vacuumed, swept and scrubbed the floors, bleached away the bits of mold that always collected in the grout between the bathroom tiles. I dusted the furniture and the blinds, cleaned out the refrigerator, and then took another shower for good measure.

I washed the doors and the knobs, straightened the closet, and at some point, I started packing.

I still didn't know what I was going to do. I didn't know if Mike had really done anything. But the things that never got used, the things that were stashed away in desk drawers and the tops of closets, somehow made their way into boxes. When the boxes were filled, I shoved them back up in the top of the closet.

And then I just stopped. I stood in the bedroom and stared at the window, at the steps of the fire escape outside, and the flapping 901 Club banner that hung from the railing. And I started to cry.

I cried for every kiss we had shared, every smile he had elicited from me, every early morning when I had awakened beside him and watched his sweet face in his sleep. I cried for the time I had wasted and the trust I had so easily given him. I cried for the I-told-you-so that I would get from Charlie, and for the plans I had made with such optimism.

When I was done crying, I moved to the living room and sat on the couch, staring blankly at a television that I didn't bother to turn on. Eventually I heard Mike's key in the lock, but I didn't have the energy to look at him when he pushed through the door.

"Hey, baby, are you still up?" he asked, kicking it closed.

Same old Mike, so genuine and sweet. It made my heart hurt.

"Have you been crying?" he asked, sounding alarmed. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Baby. Sweetie. The words sounded different to me now than they had this morning. They weren't terms of endearment, they were just interchangeable nicknames. No worries that the wrong one might slip out when any of them would do.

I stared at the television. "Did you cheat on me?" I asked bluntly.

He didn't answer. From the lack of noise I knew he had stopped moving.

"Did you?" I asked again.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice trembling. He came to the couch and sat down next to me, grabbing my hand in his. I didn't have the strength to pull away.

"We were drinking after work and we got a little carried away. I regretted it right away—I felt sick, Bella."

Well. He got some credit for not lying to me, anyway. But it looked like those boxes weren't going to get unpacked.

"How many times?" I asked him.

"Just once, it was a mistake," he said quickly. "Things just kind of got out of hand. But she's not important to me, Bella, _you're_ the only one I love."

I swallowed hard. "She was important enough that you forgot all about me," I said quietly.

"Shit," he muttered. "Fuck. Baby, you know I love you. You _know_ I do."

I nodded, my eyes still staring forward, but my mind was on the contract renewal form sitting in the office, waiting to be signed. The management wanted to know how many of us were staying for summer term, and Mike and I had said we were. They were holding our apartment for us, and sometime this week we were supposed to go in and sign the new contract.

The timing was good, at least.

"Please look at me," Mike begged. "Please, Bella, we can work through this."

My eyes slowly found his, so pained, pleading for my understanding, and I shook my head. "I can't, Mike."

"Baby, give me a chance," he gasped desperately. "I'll do anything to make it up to you."

I dropped my eyes and shook my head. "I can't. I can't be the girl who checks up on you every time you go out to make sure you're not with someone else. I can't be the girl who checks your clothes for lipstick smudges or the scent of another girl's perfume." I felt exhausted, and I dropped my head against the back of the couch, letting my eyes slip closed.

"Please," he whispered. "I love you, Bella."

I felt my heart break a little more. "I love you too, Mike." The tears started again, seeping out between my closed lids. "I love you so much. I'd have given my whole life to you."

"Bella, please don't give up on me," he begged. "Please. I never wanted to hurt you. You'll never have to worry, because I won't ever do that to you again. It was stupid. I _love_ you."

"It's not enough," I whispered sadly, pain swirling around my hollow chest.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, pressing my hand to his cheek. I felt warm tears dripping onto my fingers, and in my tired mind I saw drips of my life, my happy future, leaking away.

"I'm going to go now," I said softly. "I'll come back tomorrow to pack my things."

"Don't go," he whimpered. "Baby, stay with me." He was back on the couch now, pulling me into his arms, pressing my head into his shoulder. I didn't have it in me to push away.

"We're so good together," he was whispering, brushing my hair back from my face. "The moment I saw you I knew you were my girl, Bella. I'm so sorry I messed it up, but please give me another chance."

I wanted to. A part of my mind was arguing that he would never do this again, knowing what kind of consequence it could bring. But a much larger part of me decided that it didn't matter. He had done it to me already.

Maybe someday I would see Dr. Cullen's perspective on things. With a little bit more life experience, I might decide that cheating was something I could forgive. But I wasn't ready to give up on the dream that I could be enough for someone, that he could be with me and not _want_ anyone else. Maybe it was a silly schoolgirl fantasy, but a part of me still needed to believe it could happen.

I brought my hands up to Mike's chest and pushed him gently away from me. "I'm going to go now," I said again.

He released me, sobbing pitiably. "Please, Bella," he whispered.

I stood stoically and retrieved my purse, settling it onto my shoulder. "Goodbye."

I gripped the knob with a shaking hand and twisted it, pulling the door open and stepping through it. I drew it closed behind me, shutting the door on the life I might have had, and headed sadly down the stairs.

* * *

><p>A half an hour later found me sobbing on Jacob's front porch. The calm that I had somehow held onto through Mike's begging had abandoned me during the drive to Compton, and now I was a quivering, sloppy mess.<p>

It was almost three in the morning when I banged on the front door of the house he shared with three other roommates, so it took a couple of minutes before a groggy, sleepy-eyed Paul pulled open the door. He took one look at me and staggered backward, suddenly alert. "Um . . . hi, Bella."

"Jacob?" was all I could manage through my tears.

"He's asleep."

I pushed past him and made a beeline for Jacob's room, pausing before I opened the door. It was entirely possible that he wasn't spending the night alone. Jacob prided himself on his man-whoring ways. I knocked tentatively at the door and heard a sleepy voice yell at me to fuck off.

That was all I needed to hear. I pushed into his bedroom, closing the door behind me, and crossed the room to his bed, of which he was, thankfully, the only occupant.

He looked up, and his grouchy expression quickly turned to one of confusion. "Bella?"

I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed with him, cuddling against his chest. "Mike cheated on me," I sobbed, burying my face in his shoulder.

"Are you kidding me?" he demanded.

I shook my head morosely.

"How the fuck does a solid four of a guy cheat on a perfect ten girl?" he asked. "Bells, in that relationship, it should have been _you_ cheating."

There was a very good reason Jacob was my best friend.

"I'm not a perfect ten," I mumbled, blatantly fishing for compliments.

Jacob took the bait with relish. "Please," he scoffed. You've got those big ol' brown eyes, and that gorgeous hair. And that _body! Damn!_ Have you even seen your ass lately? Girl, I think you might be prettier than me."

I smiled through my sniffles and cuddled closer. "I don't know if I'd go _that_ far."

He laughed and kissed the top of my head. "I love you, Bella Swan."

"I love you too, Jacob Black."

He was quiet for a moment as he stroked my hair, but eventually he spoke again. "Hey, Bella?"

"Hm?" I was getting sleepy, ready to doze off in his arms.

"I'm going to put on some pajamas, okay?"

"Okay." I let go of him and he slipped out of bed, but joined me again after a moment.

"Let's get you comfortable," he said. He unbuttoned my jeans and worked them off of me, then reached under my shirt and popped the hooks on my bra. He maneuvered straps and arms and sleeves with surprising expertise until he managed to pull my bra off through my sleeve and toss it on the floor with my pants.

"That's better," he said, smiling in satisfaction. "Come here, baby. Jacob's going to make it all better." He pulled me into his arms, and less than a minute later he was snoring into his pillow.

I wasn't far behind.


	4. And There Was Light

******Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.******

* * *

><p><strong>4. And There Was Light<strong>

Jacob went with me to pack my things the next day, standing over me and glowering at Mike any time he tried to talk me out of leaving. It was probably a good thing he was there, because without him, I might have buckled. Mike looked terrible, and he apologized over and over again. I wanted so badly to just let it all go, to forgive him and go back to the way things were before, but Jacob kept me strong. We carted my things back to his house and stored them in the garage until I could find a place of my own.

I knew I should start looking that night. I knew it would be the responsible thing to do to use my evening for apartment hunting. But I found myself wanting very much to end the day with a novel and the quiet company of a certain blond-haired professor, so after a thank-you to Jacob, I threw a few books in my bag and headed off to spend my Friday night in the library.

Dr. Cullen was already there when I arrived. He looked up when I walked past his table to where I usually sat, and it looked like he was about to speak, but a chiming noise started in his pocket and he looked down, withdrawing his phone.

"Cullen . . . Yes, as a matter of fact, I just finished it."

I was tempted to take a seat at his table with him, but since the rest of the library was pretty much empty, I thought it might seem presumptuous. Besides, his books were scattered across the tabletop, and he was making no move to clear them.

Of course, _why_ I was so anxious to sit with him wasn't entirely clear to me. It wasn't like I expected to have a conversation with him. I had hoped for a quick exchange of pleasantries, but his damn phone had to ring at exactly the wrong moment and take that away from me.

Stupid phone.

I took my seat at the adjacent table, trying not to show how much I was enjoying the sound of his voice.

"It's attached and sending," Dr. Cullen was saying. "But that's just the text. I haven't yet arranged the bibliography or end notes."

Maybe it was more evidence of my nerdy side that I was turned on by talk of bibliographies and end notes . . . or maybe his voice was just _that_ sexy.

_Get it together, Bella. It would be a very bad idea to go throwing your post-break-up hormones all over the nice professor who only ever spoke to you out of some sense of chivalrous obligation._

But a girl was allowed to fantasize, wasn't she? And oh, the things I could do with that loosened tie in my fantasies. I flipped open my book, but my eyes were seeing something very different than the words printed on the page.

Dr. Cullen was apparently finished with his conversation. He said goodbye, and then his voice was no longer coloring my vivid daydreams. That didn't stop them, though. In my mind I was tugging down his tie and popping open a couple more of the buttons on his shirt, while his long, tapered fingers played at the waistband of my jeans. No, forget the jeans. If I was making this up, I might as well be wearing some ultra-trendy Versace dress, with his hands drifting down toward the hem. He'd moan softly and I'd breathe his name against his neck. Not Dr. Cullen, of course. I didn't actually know his first name, but it had to be something beautiful and sophisticated. William, maybe. "William," I would breathe against his neck. . . .

The table in front of me shifted slightly and I jumped, startled to see Dr. Cullen right in front of me, half-sitting on the edge of the table. He was smiling down at me an odd light in his eyes.

"It seems I'm not the only one who gets focused," he teased lightly.

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and I was suddenly very glad he couldn't see into my mind. "I guess not."

His smile dimmed slightly. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," I told him. I started to say that I was fine, but the warmth in his eyes drew me out, and I gave him a little more honesty. "I'm sad," I told him. "And a little pissed off. And sort of in the mood for a revenge fuck." _And if you offer your services, I'll do you right here on this table._

Dr. Cullen laughed out loud. "That seems perfectly understandable."

_Damn. That wasn't an offer._

"I moved out," I told him.

He looked surprised. "That was fast. You decided not to forgive him, then?"

His question almost made me feel guilty. I dropped my eyes and shook my head. "I just don't want to have to _wonder_ all the time."

He nodded understandingly, apparently more than willing to be convinced. "I agree, that would be tiresome. Were you able to find a new apartment so quickly?"

"Not exactly," I admitted. "I'm crashing with a friend until I find something. Which means I really _should_ be out looking tonight, but I decided I needed a mental health break." I held up my novel in explanation.

He chuckled. "What kind of place are you looking for? I'm pretty familiar with what's available. Maybe I can help."

I smiled self-consciously. "My living stipend isn't exactly generous," I confessed. "So to me, 'tiny' means 'cute' and 'run-down' means 'it has character.'"

He laughed again, the deep rich sound ringing through the room. "I see. Furnished?"

I nodded.

"Are you open to being randomly paired with a roommate?"

I shrugged. "I've done it before, freshman year in the dorms."

"I know of a place that rents two- and three-bedroom apartments on an individual contract basis," he said. "I pass it on my way into work every day. It's not the nicest place I've seen, but I've lived in worse."

"Oh yeah?" I could use a good lead. "What's it called?"

His brow furrowed. "Glen Hill?" he said. "I may be wrong about the name, but I'd be happy to show you where it is."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," I protested, though apartment hunting suddenly sounded a lot more appealing than it had earlier.

He looked sheepish. "To be honest, I don't recall the address. But I don't want to interrupt your mental health break. I can get the address for you over the weekend if you'd rather not look into it tonight."

I snapped my book closed, since it was clearly getting in the way. "No, I'm interested," I said. "I just don't want to interfere with your writing."

"I'm done for the night. I just emailed a chapter to my editor, so that should keep her happy for a while."

I smiled, an odd warmth infusing me. "You're sure you don't mind?"

He stood and started packing away his things. "I could use a mental health night myself," he said. "Writing about religious zealotry is exhausting."

I stood with him, once again helping him carry his materials as he closed up the library's books and left them for re-shelving. I followed him to his car and helped him load everything into his trunk, then gestured to my truck.

"I'll follow you," I told him.

He gave me a nod and settled into his car, waiting while I crossed the lot to my truck.

He guided me to a set of large brick buildings about five minutes from campus, where a worn sign welcomed us to the Glenwood Apartments. They weren't very impressive, but they had roofs and doors, which pretty much covered my checklist. We headed into the apartment office and Dr. Cullen took a seat in the waiting area, pulling out a newspaper to read while I moved to the counter and asked about renting.

The girl behind the counter consulted her computer. "I have an empty two-bedroom co-ed apartment," she said. "Of course, you would only be responsible for your part of the rent, whether someone else takes the second bedroom or not, but that means that we can pretty much rent it out to anyone, unless you bring in someone to fill the vacancy yourself."

I nodded, wondering if Jacob was at all interested in moving. "I understand. Would I be able to stay in the apartment through fall and spring terms?"

"Yep," she said, "it's not reserved for anyone."

That was what I was hoping to hear. It was a lot easier to get a place in the summer than it was to get one during the regular school year.

"Would you like to take a look at it?" she offered.

"That'd be great."

Dr. Cullen waited until I gestured for him to follow before folding his paper and joining us. Endlessly polite, as always, he wouldn't presume to be invited into my possible new home.

But I wanted him there, so I issued the invitation. The two of us trailed after the office attendant to the ground floor unit and started looking around.

The kitchen was the size of a closet, the carpet sucked, the furniture was shabby and hideously ugly, and the much-celebrated patio was barely big enough for a single chair.

"Aw," I said, grinning at Dr. Cullen, "it has so much character."

He laughed silently, his eyes shining.

We headed down a short hallway, and I looked into the bathroom, noting the mold in the grout that badly needed to be bleached away. The room was small, with a shower and no tub, but not too bad, all in all. And the bedrooms were decent, with surprisingly good storage space. The only real drawbacks were the beds. They were twin sized, and both were sagging and stained, one of them bearing a spot that looked suspiciously like blood.

"Oh, dear god," I said, feeling ill.

The girl from the front desk bit her lip nervously. "Maybe we could trade one with a bed from another unit?"

That thought wasn't all that confidence-inspiring, but I was sure that Mom or Charlie would send me money to buy my own bed if I needed it. And I seriously needed it. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the blood-stained mattress to prove just how _much_ I needed it.

"You know what?" I said, "Just get this bed out of here, and I'm in. I can get one of my own."

She smiled brightly. "Great! Let's go fill out a contract."

Dr. Cullen waited with me again while I signed paperwork in the office and set up a move-in date for the following Monday. The day I had planned to watch Mike graduate, I would instead be moving into my own place. It was somehow very appropriate.

When I was finished, I walked with Dr. Cullen out to my truck. "Thanks for telling me about this place," I said, feeling slightly awkward. "I was worrying about finding something that I would be able to keep after summer term."

"I'm glad I could help," he said amiably. "I know housing can be difficult. When I was in college I spent three months in a studio apartment with two roommates, waiting for a place to come available."

I shuddered. "Ugh, how awful."

We reached my truck and he leaned casually against it, taking no thought for the welfare of his clothes on my rusty monstrosity. "Something about college brings out the desperation in us." He smiled, shaking his head. "The things we do for higher education."

"What I don't get," I said, "is why people get all nostalgic when they talk about their horror stories."

He laughed brightly. "Defense mechanism?"

"I can get behind that," I grinned. "But seriously, thank you. It helps a lot to have a plan."

"You have somewhere to stay this weekend?"

"My friend's couch," I said ruefully. And this weekend I probably _would_ be on the couch, since I figured Jacob would most likely be using his bed for various activities with other girls.

"Beats a park bench," he smiled easily.

I didn't want to leave. Dr. Cullen was warm and fun, and he was melting away the pain and frustration of the last couple of days. But I could only hold him for so long, and I placed my hand on the door handle of my truck, preparing myself to leave him.

His eyes flicked to my hand and his smile faltered just a little, but he recovered quickly. "We should celebrate your new beginning."

I brightened, dropping my hand. "You think?"

"Of course," he said. "Unless you have other plans? Does your friend expect you back?"

"He's probably out trying to talk some poor unsuspecting girl into bed," I laughed. "I doubt he has a thought to spare for me just now."

"So the two of you are close, then?" Dr. Cullen joked. He straightened and beckoned me toward his car. "Come on. How does Ben and Jerry's in Foley Park sound?"

"I like it," I said emphatically. I followed him to his car and let him give me a hand into my seat, his fingers smooth and cool against my own.

_Sigh._

I rolled my eyes at myself. I couldn't believe I was getting all fluttery over a professor. But after all, wasn't the college professor crush pretty much obligatory? Plus, anybody who proposed ice cream in the park was pretty damn crush-worthy in my book.

We drove to Foley Park, making a quick stop to pick up a pint of Clusterfluff for me and Phish Food for Dr. Cullen. We parked in the lot, and he led me across the grass to a steep hill sloping down toward a pretty little pond. We settled into the grass on the hillside and opened our Ben and Jerry's.

Dr. Cullen scooped out a spoonful of ice cream and held it up. "To fresh starts," he said.

I dug out a scoop as well and clicked my plastic spoon against his. "Fresh starts," I echoed.

We ate in silence for a few moments, and I sighed contentedly. "Thank you, Dr. Cullen," I said. "This is exactly what I needed."

He smiled warmly. "Call me Carlisle."

_Mmm, Carlisle. That was _way_ sexier than William. Unusual, sophisticated . . . just like him._

"Well then," I said, "I guess you can call me Miss Swan."

He raised an eyebrow. "Just for that, I'm taking your Clusterfluff." He snatched my ice cream out of my hand and replaced it with his.

I looked at his Phish Food for a moment and shrugged, taking a bite.

"What's next for you?" he asked conversationally. "Obviously not going home for the summer?"

I shook my head. "I'm on scholarship, so I figure I might as well just push through as fast as possible."

"I'll be seeing you in the library again this term, then?"

"You know it." I leaned back against the hillside, sucking a mound of ice cream off of my spoon. "So no hot date tonight, huh?"

He shot me a wink. "Don't sell yourself short."

I giggled—like a high school girl, actually, and how embarrassing was _that?_ I tried to save face by redirecting. "Right, well, other than the charity ice cream with the homeless reject, have you got any interesting plans this weekend?"

"As a matter of fact, I have a date tomorrow night," he said.

"Excellent." I sat forward and dipped my spoon in his container. "Details."

He propped his forearms up on his knees, his eyes shining with amusement. "So I can't cook," he said. "Even the most basic things. I can't even boil water without it sticking to the bottom of the pan."

I giggled again, though slightly less ridiculously this time. "Okay."

"This being the case," he continued, "a friend of mine decided that what I really need is to take up with a woman who _can_ cook." He gestured with his spoon. "So he keeps setting me up with the culinary professors at the Art Institute."

I laughed around a bite of ice cream. "You're kidding!"

He shook his head, grinning widely. "So tomorrow I have a date with a lovely pastry chef named Heidi."

"Is this a blind date?"

He shook his head. "No, this will actually be our third." He poked thoughtfully at his ice cream. "Which means it will probably be the last."

That surprised me. "Why's that?"

He stared at the carton in his hand. "That's the norm for me," he said with forced casualness. "Occasionally I make it to four, sometimes I don't get past one or two. But three dates is pretty much par for the course."

I was burning with curiosity now. "Why is that?"

He stalled by taking a small bite of ice cream and letting it melt in his mouth. "That's when they realize I'm not the sort of man a woman gets serious about," he finally said. "The first date is just fun, the second date is when you start learning about each other, and the third date is when you begin looking at whether you have a future together."

His words were casual, but he still didn't quite meet my gaze, and his eyes betrayed his sadness. But he was trying to keep things light, so I tried as well.

"And what, that's when they find out you're married and ditch you?"

He chuckled softly, though there was little real feeling behind it. "No, Bella, I'm not married."

I leaned back on my elbows. "So what is it? Pegleg? Syphilis? What do people discover about you that invariably sends them scampering away?"

He still wasn't looking at me, though he did give a good attempt at a smile. "They discover how completely disinterested I am in having children."

His answer caught me off-guard. "Oh," I said, processing that. "Seriously? They find out you don't want kids, and that's it?"

He looked up at me then and nodded, but I couldn't read the expression in his eyes.

"Huh." I shifted onto one elbow so I could take a bite of Phish Food. "I can't imagine that literally _every_ woman would stop seeing you over that."

"You're young yet," he said casually. "A family may not be a priority for you now, but that will likely change once you've finished college and perhaps gotten a good start on your career."

"Maybe," I shrugged. "Still, I would think a few people would be willing to _consider_ not having kids."

His crooked smile actually had some feeling behind it this time. "You've got to understand that the women I date are a bit older than you, Bella. A lot of them already have children."

I dug a chocolate fish out of my ice cream and popped it into my mouth, letting it melt as I talked. "That's a deal-breaker for you, too?"

He nodded. "Mine, someone else's, even grown children . . . I want nothing to do with them. I'm just not a family man."

"Why not?"

He glanced briefly at me, and then back to the ice cream that he was jabbing at idly with his plastic spoon.

"I mean, I don't care," I qualified. "Do what you want with your life and all, I'm just curious."

He looked like he was debating whether he should answer me. Finally he leaned onto his elbow, facing me but still staring at his ice cream. "You remember yesterday, when I told you most people aren't irredeemable?"

"Yeah." I picked out another fish and ate it.

He raised his cool blue eyes to meet mine, and the sadness in them staggered me. "I'm not most people."

I raised my eyebrows. "You're saying you've done something so horrible you can't be forgiven for it?"

He dropped his eyes again. "It's not just what I've done. It's what I am."

I cocked an eyebrow. "A child-hating know-it-all who spends every night in the library?"

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is that's so awful about you?"

He shook his head, smiling sadly. "It's a bit personal."

"Alright," I said. "Well then, I can only assume that you don't deserve my Clusterfluff." I grabbed it out of his hand, trading it for the Phish Food, and took a bite.

He laughed silently and looked at me, his expression displaying a little bit of relief. "That's probably true."

I lay back against the side of the hill and stared up into the stars, enjoying the balmy night. "This works out for me, you know," I told him. "Hanging out with someone who's irredeemable makes me feel like less of a loser."

"At least I'm good for something." He winked at me.

We stayed out under the stars for another hour or so, sharing ice cream and talking. We kept it to lighter subjects after Carlisle's not-quite-confession, and I wasn't a hundred percent sure that my feet actually touched the ground as we walked back to his car. We drove back to the Glenwood and said goodbye, promising to see each other in the library on Monday, and I headed south to Jake's place.

He was on the couch in front of the television when I got in. "Hey, girl," he greeted me casually. "Where were you?"

"Finding an apartment," I told him, plopping down next to him.

"Yeah? That was fast."

"A friend of mine steered me in the right direction," I told him, feeling all kinds of good that I could call Dr. Cullen—_Carlisle_—my friend.

"Excellent. So did you get it?"

"I move in Monday."

"Sweet. I'll come over after work and help you."

"You're the best." I snuggled up against his shoulder, staring at the television as he flipped through the channels. "No date tonight?"

"Nope," he said. "I wanted to be here for you in case you needed to decompress."

"Aw, Jake, that's so sweet." I stretched up to give him a peck on the cheek. "You don't have to cater to me, though. I'm good."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Bella, you just broke up with the guy you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. You should be bawling into your Cheerios."

Maybe he was right. Maybe I shouldn't be moving past Mike so easily. "Would you rather I moped around all weekend?" I asked.

"No," he said carefully, "I'm just wondering why you're not."

I shrugged. "I'm not feeling it. He cheated on me, and it hurts, but now he's gone, and at least for now, I've got my own place. I've never lived completely alone before, and I'm kind of looking forward to it."

"You know I'll be coming over all the time, right?" he said. "I mean, since you don't live with that douchebag anymore, I'll be able to stand visiting you."

My jaw dropped. "You didn't like Mike?"

"Of course I didn't like Mike," he scoffed. "I was so tired of him treating you like you were some kind of footnote in the narrative of his life."

"He did that?" I asked, stunned.

Jacob snickered. "I can't believe you didn't notice. I swear, you can be so myopic."

"That's true. I figure that's why I always fell in the tide pools at the beach."

"Right," he laughed. "That has nothing to do with your superhuman klutziness."

I gave him another kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to bed."

"I'll be in soon," he replied, his attention on the television again. "I have to finish making sure nothing's on first."

I grinned and headed for the bedroom, changing into my pajamas. I was just climbing under the blankets when my phone started ringing, and I smiled to see my mother's name on the display.

"Hi, Mom," I answered, snuggling down onto Jacob's pillow.

"Bella, what in the world was that picture you sent me earlier?" she asked, sounding distressed.

I stifled a laugh. "Um, that was the bed in the new apartment I'm moving into."

"And this is your way of asking for money to buy a new one?"

Mom and I were so in sync. "Please?" I begged. "I just _can't_ sleep on that, Mom, and it's so hard to find a decent place around here."

She gave a sympathetic laugh. "I'll order one for you in the morning. But if I get you a double, can I crash in your bed with you when I come out for a visit?"

I sat up quickly. "You're coming to visit me?" I asked excitedly.

"I'm sure I will eventually," she said. "You're in Southern California. How could I not take advantage of that?"

"That would be awesome! And yes, you're allowed to share my bed any time you want. God knows I'm not picky. I'm sleeping with Jacob this weekend."

"Wait, what?" she asked, suddenly realizing that something was off. "Moving to a new apartment and sleeping with Jacob? Bella? What's going on?"

So I told her everything, and she did exactly what a mother is supposed to do. She cursed Mike for daring to cheat and praised me for being a strong, independent woman and walking away from him. After the encouragement from Jacob and Carlisle I was feeling a lot better, but nobody could boost me up like my mom. By the time I hung up the phone, I was feeling very good about being single.


	5. To Eat, and to Drink, and to Be Merry

********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.********

* * *

><p><strong>5. To Eat, and to Drink, and to Be Merry<strong>

"You're coming."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Jacob stamped his foot childishly. "Bella, if you don't come, I'll feel obligated to stay here and nurse your little broken heart with you, and I don't _want_ to!"

I giggled at his petulance. "Just _go_, Jacob. I'm fine. My heart isn't even broken, it's just sprained."

"Then come," he urged me. "Get drunk, dance, flirt with somebody! It's Saturday night, for crying out loud!"

He was wearing me down, and that bugged the hell out of me. "Yeah, but a frat party, Jacob?"

"Yes," he said as though it should be obvious. "Can you think of a better place to find a random hook-up to help you get over your ex?"

Yes. The library. And God, how good would it feel to drag the fuckhot Carlisle Cullen back into the stacks for a random hook-up?

But he was out with someone else tonight, and chances were, a shit-faced guy at a frat party would be a lot more likely to offer me a tour of his bed than Dr. Cullen was. And I _wanted_ a good fuck. I felt like I needed to make a declaration that I was moving on, that I had fully closed the door on my relationship with Mike.

"Fine," I muttered. "But if I don't get laid tonight, I'm coming home and fucking _you._"

"Bella, don't be gross."

God, I loved Jacob.

So I dressed myself up in a short skirt and a slutty halter and stood for inspection. Jacob made me spin on my three-inch heels as he looked me over thoughtfully.

"You need to pierce something," he said.

"Fuck that," I snorted. "Come on, let's go."

Ten minutes later we were striding into a crowded frat house, my hand clutched firmly in Jacob's. He made his way directly to the keg in one corner and got us both beers to kick off the night. When he handed me a half-full plastic cup, I arched an eyebrow at him.

"Seriously, Jacob?" I gulped it down and refilled it to the brim, chugging that as well.

Jacob grinned. "Baby came to party!" he crowed.

I scanned the crowd of casual, comfortable, _beautiful_ people, and sipped at my third cup. I got about halfway through it before I was loose enough to allow Jacob to pull me onto a makeshift dance floor in what was probably a dining room on week days. He generously granted me one dance with him before abandoning me for an adorable little redhead who was giving him the eye.

I sidled up to a seriously sexy platinum blond with a hot southern accent and started moving with him. He grinned down at me with glazed eyes, clearly having hit the keg a little earlier than I had, and he draped an arm over my shoulders.

"Hey, pretty girl," he grinned, pulling me in close. "What's your name?"

"Bella," I smiled. This one was ripe for the picking. "What's yours?"

"Whatever you want it to be," he grinned lazily.

I returned his grin with my own slightly-buzzed smile. "How about Hector?"

His brow furrowed, and he looked insulted. "That's a terrible name," he complained. "You don't really think I look like a Hector, do you?"

"Okay, no Hector," I said, letting my hips rub against his. "Maybe Susan?"

His jaw dropped. "What the hell, girl?" he said, looking slightly miffed. "How come you gotta be so mean?"

I smiled playfully, pressing myself against him. "Maybe if you'd just tell me your name instead of making me guess it, I'd play nice."

His grin came back, and he gave a little drunken chuckle as his hands moved to my hips. "You know what'd be real nice?" he asked, grinding against me. "If you'd quit busting my balls and suck on 'em instead."

"Mmm, you know what?" I said, grinding right back. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for that to be sexy."

"Sounds like you need another beer." He dipped his head and nipped at my earlobe.

I shivered at the sensation. "If you tell me your name, maybe I'll let you get me one."

"It's Peter," an angry woman's voice said from behind me, "and he's taken."

I turned to her, giving her an apologetic smile. "Sorry," I muttered as I stepped out of Peter's grasp.

She flipped her hair coolly and took my place, jabbing her finger into Peter's chest as she gave him a verbal lashing.

I hoped for Peter's sake that the make-up sex was awesome.

I turned and scanned the floor, and my eyes fell on a guy who reeked of pot and old money. I made my way over to him, giving him the eye, and he eyed me right back. He danced close, but not touching, and gave me a nod.

"Charles Everett III," he said with a cool smile. "Of the Carolina Everetts."

"Oh, _hell_ no." I backed away quickly. Even if he hadn't made a point of telling me he was _of the Carolina Everetts_, who I was apparently supposed to know about, there was no way in hell I was yelling my father's name in the throes of passion. "Sorry, honey, good luck elsewhere."

He gave me a confused look, but I ignored him, already scanning the crowd for a new prospect. I picked out a looker with brown skin and glossy black hair—a little younger than the other guys, maybe, but definitely easy on the eyes. I made my way over to him and started to dance, and he quickly joined in.

"Hey," he said, his dark eyes sparkling. "Having a good time?"

Hmm. This one seemed totally sober. "I am now."

"Excellent," he smiled, showing off a set of pearly white teeth. "I'm Benjamin."

"Bella," I smiled back.

"So, do you go to school here?" he asked enthusiastically.

I slid a little closer to him. "Yeah, what about you?"

"Maybe in a couple of years," he answered.

I frowned, alarm bells going off in my head. "How old are you?" I asked him.

"Sixteen," he said brightly.

I let out a sigh, feeling deflated. "Yeah, later cutie." I slunk away, glowering to myself, and headed for the keg again. "Three strikes, Little Miss Bella," I said aloud to myself—which ought to have tipped me off that I should probably have had something to eat before downing the beer so fast. "Time to take a break and wait for a new inning."

I got me another beer, despite my vocal conversation with myself that indicated I didn't need it, and drank it as I gazed around the frat-house. Jacob was making strides with the redhead on the dance floor, but that didn't surprise me. Jacob was sexy as hell on the outside, and twelve different flavors of adorable on the inside. It was no wonder it was a cinch for him to hook up. Who wouldn't want some of that?

Except me, of course. I was definitely not going to go down the road where I started lusting after my oldest friend. If I was hot for Jacob, I was _way_ too drunk.

But I mean . . . the guy could fill out a pair of jeans. . . .

"No, Bella," I told myself sternly. "Way too drunk. Go get another beer."

I was nothing if not obedient, so I drained my cup and refilled it.

I was riding a pretty good wave of happy with somewhere around four pints of beer and no food in my hundred-and-ten-pound self. Which was a good excuse for what happened next if ever there was one.

I had found a couch in a common room of the frat house and sank down onto it, ignoring the two people beside me who were apparently trying to lick each other's tonsils, when the most beautiful girl I had ever seen came up and perched on the arm of the couch next to me.

"Hey," she said, giving me a smile.

I looked up at her, taking a moment to let my vision focus. She was . . . I mean, _ouch_. She was amazing. Tall and blond, with the body of a supermodel and the face of an angel. She was the kind of girl who made every other girl want to hide under a rock. She was just. . . .

"Wow," I breathed. "Um. I mean, hi."

She laughed, and everything was beautiful. The sound was beautiful, and her smile was beautiful, and the way it lit up her eyes was beautiful.

"I want to be you," I told her.

She laughed again. Apparently, there was something about me that she found very amusing. That would be the third sign in less than an hour that somebody should be cutting me off.

"That sounds fun," she said. "Maybe we should trade for a day. You can be Rosalie Hale, and I'll be. . . ."

I stared at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. She'd be what?

Me.

_Oh!_

I giggled drunkenly. "Bella Swan."

She leaned in a little closer. "So tell me, Bella Swan," she said with her beautiful voice and her beautiful lips, while her beautiful fingers fiddled with a beautiful lock of hair, "if we traded places for a day, what would I find in your life?"

"You would find a Jacob," I told her. "Because you have to camp out at his place until your new apartment with," I made air quotes with my fingers, "_character_ is ready for you. Which you moved into because your stupid-ass ex cheated. And . . . um . . ." A wide smile came across my face. "You'd find a Carlisle." I sighed wistfully. "And looking like you, you'd probably be able to get him into the stacks for a good hard fuck."

She was looking at me in amusement again. "Is that so?" she asked. "You know, I don't think I'd really want to, though."

"Oh yes, you would," I said, gesturing with my empty beer cup. "He's so . . . mmmm . . . like you, only a man."

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. "Yeah, but see, that's kind of deal-breaker for me."

"What, that he's as pretty as you?" I asked, confused.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, that he's a man."

Oh.

_Oh._

"Oh." I nodded conspiritorially. "Gotcha."

Her beautiful fingers had somehow made their way to a lock of _my_ hair, and she was stroking it now, the varied shades of brown standing in sharp contrast to her pale skin. "So, Bella Swan," she said, leaning a little closer, "have you ever been with woman?"

I swallowed hard and tried to look into her stunning blue eyes. _God_, they were blue. "Your eyes look like Bing Crosby's," I blurted out.

She was laughing again. It was so pretty. "Do they?" she asked.

"No."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "They don't?"

"Yes! I mean . . . no," I fumbled. "I mean . . . yes, they look like Bing Crosby's. No, I haven't been with a woman."

Her fingers moved to stroke through my hair, her nails grazing lightly over my scalp and sending goose bumps racing down my back. I moaned softly.

"Have you ever wanted to?" she asked softly.

"Hm." I searched my memory for a time I'd been interested in a woman. "No," I said. "Except for Sarah Michelle Gellar, and I mean, who _doesn't_ want to sleep with Sarah Michelle Gellar? Except, I think you're probably prettier than her. And I know that's the kind of blasphemy that God would strike me down for, but I mean . . . you're _really_ pretty."

Her eyes lit up at the flattery. "So, does that mean you might be interested in trying something new tonight?"

I smiled lazily. "I like trying new things," I told her. "I tried Clusterfluff ice cream the other day, and it was—Oh! You mean sex."

She giggled brightly, her fingers pressed to her lips. "Yes, I mean sex."

"Hang on, I have to count my beers," I told her. It took a moment, because the two halves I'd had at the beginning of the night messed me up a little. Yet another sign that I'd had way too much.

"Four," I said. "Four beers. In less than an hour. On an empty stomach." I smiled broadly. "I definitely can't be held accountable for my actions."

She looked puzzled.

"That's a yes," I clarified.

Her smile came back and she leaned in closer, pressing her soft lips to mine. I let my tongue dart out, tasting her bottom lip, and gave a little half-moan, half-sigh.

"You taste like candy," I murmured.

"You taste like beer." She laced her fingers through mine and pulled me up from the couch. I followed her, paying more attention to how pretty Rosalie Hale was, and to not tripping over my feet, than to where we were actually going, so I was a little surprised when a door clicked closed and there was a bed, right there in front of us.

"That's a nice bed," I said. "It looks . . . like marshmallows."

It really did. It was all done up in white satin and lace, with a squishy-looking comforter and overstuffed pillows. I _loved_ overstuffed pillows.

"It feels like marshmallows too," Rosalie said, tugging me toward it. "Come try it out."

Something wasn't connecting in my brain. Something about the bed and this house . . . they didn't match.

"Wait," I said. "Isn't this a frat party?" I looked around, confused. "Why is there a bed like this in a frat house?"

She laughed delightedly. "Bella Swan, we just _left_ the frat party. It's next door."

"We went _outside?_" I asked incredulously.

She frowned. "You know, Bella, maybe you should be just a little bit more sober before you make a decision like this."

"No," I said solemnly, shaking my head. "Because then I would think about what Charlie would say." Bringing up Charlie made me remember Charles Everett III, _of the Carolina Everetts_, and I imagined once again calling out my father's name in bed. I giggled.

And then I realized that the giggling was probably ruining the mood, so I stopped giggling and kissed Rosalie again. She still tasted like candy, and she opened her mouth, letting her tongue tangle with mine.

But then I felt awkward. I was pretty comfortable feeling up a man, but this was all kinds of odd. There were hips and breasts, and long golden hair . . . things I didn't usually touch.

I felt Rosalie's hand slide up to tangle in my hair, and it felt amazing. That, I realized, was something I could do. So I mimicked her action, running my fingers through her own silky tresses, and she moaned softly into my mouth.

Yes. I could do this. I was a woman, so I knew what felt good to a woman. Right.

I moved my other hand around to the small of her back and pushed up her blouse, letting my fingers trail lightly over her skin. She shivered and pressed her body closer to me. Her mouth released mine and she ran her tongue along my jawline, sending chills coursing through me.

Yes. I liked this. I slid my hand farther up her shirt, feeling the slender contours of her back. I stopped briefly at her bra strap, unhooking it quickly and pushing the straps out of my way so I could feel her body unimpeded.

She let out a slow, shaky breath and dragged her hands down my shoulders to my breasts, cupping them over my halter. My nipples pebbled at the contact, straining through the thin fabric of my blouse. There was no bra to dampen the sensations, and I felt a thrill run through me as she rolled my nipples between her fingers.

"Ungh, yes," I mumbled.

Rosalie slid onto the bed, urging me onto it with her, and I crawled onto the squashy comforter, smiling to myself. I liked it. It was very feminine, and feminine things felt nice. Rosalie felt nice.

I wanted to feel _more_ of Rosalie.

I reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it up over her head. She let me take it off, then shed the loose bra, and I found myself staring at two gorgeous, perfect breasts. They were smooth and round, completely flawless, with small, pink nipples that puckered in the cool air of the bedroom. I nudged her onto her back and crawled over her, dipping my head to take one nipple into my mouth while I fondled the other between my fingers. Rosalie moaned and arched her back, thrusting her breasts up.

_Hot._

I lowered myself down on her, craving contact, friction. It was slightly disappointing settling onto slender hips, with no hint of a bulge to grind against, but I moved my hips anyway, enjoying the sensual motion of her body beneath me.

At least, I was pretty sure she was moving. It might have been the beer.

Rosalie's hands pushed up under my skirt and one finger traced over my thong before her hands splayed over my backside and pressed me closer to her. She was moaning and whimpering beneath me, and I was thinking idly how different the sounds were between being with a woman and being with a man, when she started tugging my skirt and my thong off of me.

That seemed like a good idea. I helped her work them down over my ankles and kicked them off, along with my shoes. I went to work on her skirt next, while she stripped my blouse off of me.

And then we were naked, two women, and I couldn't help but feeling that there was an overabundance of breasts and a distinct lack of penises.

Rosalie didn't let that stop her. She rolled on top of me, kissing me deeply, and then trailing her lips down my neck. I couldn't deny that I loved how it felt, and as she kissed her way down my chest and my stomach, I moaned wantonly.

She didn't disappoint. Her trailing tongue sought out my clitoris, and her fingers pushed up inside of me. It was incredible, though I had to admit her nails were occasionally just a little bit uncomfortable. But her mouth thoroughly distracted me, and she worked me over intently, ramping up the desire in me. I tangled my fingers in her hair, arching my hips against her, and cried out in pleasure. Her tongue laved my sensitive nub again and again, playing with me, manipulating me, as her fingers pumped in and out. I could hear the sound as they slid between my wet folds, could imagine them coated in my juices, and the thought pushed me closer to orgasm. I was right on the edge, just needing a little more, a little longer. Rosalie provided, her tongue moving firmly and steadily until the orgasm crashed down over me.

I let out a string of profanities as I pushed against her mouth, my hips arching erratically as the pleasure ripped through me. The pulsing, throbbing waves dominated me, and I willingly surrendered, letting the ecstasy flow and ebb, the intensity receding slightly with each pass, until my muscles finally went limp and I sagged back onto the bed.

Rosalie peeked up from between my legs, licking her glossy lips and smiling at me. She withdrew her hand, her fingers glistening with my juices, and slowly, deliberately, sucked them clean. She crawled up next to me and cuddled up against my side, her hands roaming over my breasts.

"Holy shit," I mumbled.

She smiled almost self-consciously, and her lips found my nipple, sucking gently. Soft sounds of need escaped her throat, and I knew it was my turn to give a little. I took a deep breath, surprisingly nervous, and rolled her onto her back. Just as she had done, I kissed my way down her velvety-soft throat, between her beautiful, firm breasts, and down the milky expanse of her flat stomach. Her blond curls were neatly trimmed, and I kissed my way across them until I reached her soft folds. I gave an experimental lick, tasting her flavor on my tongue.

_Hm. Tangy._

Rosalie moaned as my tongue stroked her, and I pushed forward, dipping inside her wet core. She gasped and writhed, her hands moving to grip my hair, and I pushed two fingers into her as I set to work on her clit with my mouth.

It was, I was a bit surprised to discover, hard work. My tongue tired long before I had spent enough time to get Rosalie anywhere close to orgasm. Plus, it was kind of boring. I mean, I was all set. I got mine, and now it was all about the give. Not that I was a selfish lover or anything . . . at least, I didn't think I was. I didn't _want_ to be. Shit, maybe I was, maybe that was why Mike . . . I pushed him out of my head, but a lingering sense of paranoia spurred me on, and I kept going with my aching tongue for a couple more minutes. But seriously, my tongue was tired. I needed a rest, so I pulled my mouth away and replaced it with my thumb, teasing her clit firmly.

Rosalie didn't seem to mind the substitution. She cried out loudly, her hips bucking upward, and I increased my pace a little. I could see the moisture seeping out of her as she rode my fingers, and I kissed along the soft skin of her inner thigh.

And, yeah, it was still kind of boring. And repetitive. In and out, in and out . . . but that was pretty much what got the job done, so I kept going. After a few minutes she finally reached her peak, screaming my name as she did. Her hips ground against my hand, and I could feel her velvety walls pulsing around my fingers.

That was kind of awesome.

When she came down I slid my fingers out of her but I really didn't want to lick them clean the way she had. Fortunately, she kept a box of tissues on her night stand, and I grabbed a couple and wiped up before settling next to her again.

She hummed softly as she turned in to me, sliding an arm around my waist. Her eyes were slightly glazed, her hair tousled appealingly. She looked relaxed and happy as she burrowed her face into my breasts.

I was pretty relaxed myself, and all that beer had gone a long way toward making me very, very sleepy. If I didn't go soon, I was going to fall asleep right here. I started to pull back, but Rosalie tightened her arm around me.

"Stay with me tonight?" she asked, her voice soft and pleading.

That actually sounded like a good idea. It was a _really_ nice bed. "Okay," I mumbled.

Rosalie pulled back the comforter and we crawled under it, settling ourselves back onto the soft marshmallow pillows.

* * *

><p>I woke up in hell. My head was trying to tear itself apart and my mouth was so nasty it had practically glued itself shut. I snaked a cottony tongue out to lick my dry lips and moaned.<p>

I heard a soft chuckle next to me and pried my eyes open to see an angel with tangled hair and smudged make-up smiling at me. I stared at her for a moment, puzzled, until I remembered what exactly had happened last night.

"Oh," I breathed, and then wanted to shoot myself for being stupid enough to speak. My head throbbed painfully, and I winced.

Rosalie's smile fell. "Good morning," she said tentatively.

And that was when I realized how badly I had to pee.

"Bathroom?" I mumbled.

She hopped up and found a robe for me, helping me out of bed and pointing me down the hall to a communal bathroom. I stumbled into a stall and fell onto a toilet, clutching my head as I emptied my bladder. I slouched to the sink and washed my hands, then ducked my head under the faucet and drew in several long gulps of water. I scrubbed my face and gulped down a lot more water before making my way back out into the hall.

And then I realized I didn't remember which room was Rosalie's. I was almost positive I knew which direction I had come from, and I was staring at four different doors, pretty sure I had emerged from one of them, when she stepped into the doorway of a room a bit farther down the hall, wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top.

I smiled, relieved, and made my way carefully back to her.

"Feel better?" she asked with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I need greasy food in a bad way," I muttered.

She laughed lightly as we moved back to the bed.

I sank down onto the squashy comforter and glanced around the room. It was sophisticated, and carried a lot of personal touches. Photographs, trophies, and ribbons adorned the walls. My eyes scanned my surroundings for a moment before coming back to rest on Rosalie. She was staring anxiously at me.

"Do you even remember last night?" she asked, twisting her hands in her lap.

I laughed, but it turned to a grunt as pain shot through my head again. "I remember," I mumbled.

"Do you . . . regret last night?" she asked quietly.

I drew in a deep breath. "I regret about two pints of beer," I said. "And I sort of regret this lingering mental image of me yelling my dad's name during sex. . . ."

She cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"But I don't regret you," I said firmly.

A relieved smile flooded her features. "I'm glad," she whispered.

I smiled lazily. "That was fun," I told her. "New."

"So . . . I don't suppose there's a lifestyle change in your future?" She looked at me with guarded eyes, expecting to be disappointed, but with just a hint of hope shining in them.

It made me really sad not to be able to give her the answer that she wanted. "I don't think so," I said apologetically.

She nodded in disappointment and lowered her head.

"You want to go to breakfast?" I asked her in an attempt to cheer her up a little.

She smiled and nodded. "Where do you want to go?"

"I'm not picky," I told her, "as long as there's grease."

* * *

><p><strong>Don't worry, this isn't going to become a continuing theme. This is still a BellaCarlisle story.**


	6. Crying in the Wilderness

******Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.******

* * *

><p><strong>6. Crying in the Wilderness<strong>

"No way."

Jacob and Paul were staring at me in disbelief as we sat around the kitchen table, and from the living room I could see Sam sneaking furtive glances at us when he thought Emily was too engaged in her magazine to notice.

"It's true," I grinned beneath my flaming cheeks.

"How did that happen?" Jacob demanded.

"People do weird things when they're drunk," I said. "I mean, do I really need to remind you about the night I had to sneak my dad's ladder out of the garage because you were too drunk to get yourself out of that tree?"

Jacob snickered. "Yeah, that one was good."

"Not half as good as yours," Paul declared. "Tell it again, Bella. With details this time."

"Lots and lots of details," Jacob added eagerly.

I rolled my eyes. "You two are pathetic."

"Bella, listen," Paul said solemnly. "If this ever happens again," he paused for effect, "_you have to let me watch!_"

I snorted derisively. "Pathetic," I repeated.

"Better yet, get video," Jacob said. "So we can watch again and again and again. . . ."

"Pathetic!"

I pushed myself away from the table and refilled my water glass. I was still feeling a little dehydrated from my over-indulgence the night before.

"You know, I'm not doing anything tonight," Paul offered. "Maybe you could call your friend Rosalie, and the three of us could hang out."

"It's a good thing I'm moving into my apartment tomorrow," I muttered.

"Hey," Jacob said seriously as I sat back down. "Seriously, Bella, how are you doing. Are you okay?"

"Jacob, I'm _fine_." I said impatiently. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"A few more, apparently, because I don't believe you." He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You thought you were going to marry that loser, but you're acting like you don't even care that you broke up with him."

"What do you want me to say?" I asked testily. "Yeah, I thought he was it, and now I feel like a complete moron. Does that make you happy?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "You don't have to get all defensive. I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah, Jesus, Bella," Paul chimed in. "It's not such a stretch for him to think you should be sad after a break-up."

"Right," I snapped. "Because I'm just a woman, right? I couldn't possibly be happy without a man?"

Paul stood up with a huff. "Fuck you, Bella," he muttered, before stalking off to his room.

Jacob was regarding me carefully.

"What?" I barked at him.

"Do you think maybe you're overreacting a little?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, what's with you? I'm all for moving on, but for you, moving on has never involved getting smashed at a party and hooking up with another girl."

"I don't believe this," I growled indignantly. "_You_ dragged me to that party, Jacob, and now you're criticizing me for what I did there?"

"I'm not criticizing," he said, holding up his hands defensively. "Fuck all the girls you want, Bella, I'm not arguing with that. I'm just saying maybe you're not acknowledging that there are still some issues to be worked out."

"Jacob," I said tersely, "I'm _fine._"

He heaved a sigh. "Okay. Whatever you say. I'm going to bed, you want to come."

I was tempted to say no, just because I was mad at him, but I recognized that I was being childish at that point. Jacob was only trying to be supportive, and after all, wasn't that why he was my best friend?

Plus, he was adorable, sitting there looking all wounded.

"Yeah," I relented.

He flashed me a smile as he held out his hand to me, and I took it, giving him a reluctant smile back. Stupid, irresistible Jacob. How was I ever supposed to stay mad at him?

* * *

><p>Jacob had already left for work when I woke the next morning, but when I headed out to my truck, I found that he had loaded my boxes into the bed for me. There was a note taped to my steering wheel telling me that he loved me and promising to come by my new place that afternoon to help me unpack.<p>

I managed to get the boxes loaded from my truck into my apartment before I got lazy. I looked around at them and started thinking about the amount of work that had gone into packing them, and decided that it was desperately urgent that I go to campus and see if my grades were posted.

The weather was gorgeous, warm and inviting, and I couldn't help but smile as I stepped into it. I hopped in my truck and drove to campus, then started making the rounds to the offices of my professors, checking for final exam results.

Most of my professors had posted them but, predictably, the one I was most concerned about was unavailable. Dr. Berty still hadn't put up the results from his Linguistics test.

I hadn't planned to go to Alumni Park that day . . . or at least, that's what I told myself. I knew what was happening there. It would have been hard to miss the podium and the hundreds of folding chairs set up on the grass, after all.

But I wasn't going.

After finding the blank bulletin board outside of Dr. Berty's office, though, my errand to campus felt oddly unfinished. I wandered around aimlessly, and somehow found myself at the edge of the crowded square, eyeing the black-robed graduates who were milling around with their families, waiting impatiently for the ceremonies to get underway.

I didn't want to be here. Really, I didn't. And yet, I couldn't seem to leave. I sidled up to the steps in front of the bookstore and lowered myself down, clinging to the handrail as I sat and watched the people milling around.

I couldn't help thinking about how happy this day should have been for me. I was supposed to be with Mike right now, meeting his parents, posing under his arm while they snapped photos, and taking my turn behind the camera while his parents hugged him and smiled proudly.

And it wasn't just graduation. He wouldn't be waiting in the crowd for me when I accepted _my_ diploma. I wouldn't be with him when he started his career. We wouldn't get married, buy a house, or have kids together. There would be no summer vacations with him, no visits with Mom or Charlie at holidays, no shared birthdays or anniversaries . . . no _us._

We were over.

I blinked to clear my blurry vision and felt a tear slide down my cheek. Jacob was right, I wasn't dealing with this. I was ignoring it. Every time I thought about everything that I wouldn't have and wouldn't be, I felt empty . . . desolate.

"I made a mistake," I whispered. I never should have left him. I had thrown away a beautiful future with Mike over one temporary lapse in judgment. It was stupid . . . and if I were being honest with myself, it was unfair. I knew that being in a relationship didn't mean a person stopped being attracted to everyone else. After all, hadn't I done the same thing? I had noticed Carlisle sitting there in the library, night after night, and had felt attraction to him. Who was I to judge Mike for feeling the same way, for letting things get out of hand just once?

Maybe if I went to him and begged his forgiveness, he would take me back. Maybe I could still have the house, the kids, the holidays with Charlie.

My eyes searched the crowd, and miraculously I found him. He was talking with his parents, his smile slightly forced, fiddling with the tassel on the graduation cap in his hands.

This was it. I could go to him now, apologize, and still have this day with him. Only . . . I wondered if _she_ was here. My mind flashed to the image I had created of a strange girl crawling out the bedroom window onto the fire escape, and then I created a new one, of her striding up to him while he stood with his parents, linking her arm through his.

What if he had gone to her when I left him? What if the two of them were a couple now? Did he care about her that much? Did he even miss me?

This was why I had ended it, I remembered. I didn't want to deal with the what-ifs, the constant wondering whether he felt the same about me as I did about him. Maybe that was stupid. No matter who I was with, no matter what our past, I would never be able to be perfectly confident in another person's loyalty. Not now that I knew what it was like to be betrayed.

So why not go back to Mike? If that was something I had to live with no matter what, why give up the future I had so looked forward to?

Tears were falling freely now, and two or three people gave me concerned looks as they walked by. I ignored them and wiped impatiently at my eyes, trying to make sense of my jumbled thoughts.

"Bella?"

The familiar velvet voice came from a short way down the walk in front of me, and I looked up to see Carlisle striding toward me, looking chic and perfect in a sleek black suit and a red and gold tie. He was smiling, but it fell when he saw my face.

"Bella, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I said, swiping at my tears again. "I'm just being stupid."

He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and crouched down next to me, gently blotting away my tears. "I doubt that," he said, his clear blue eyes holding nothing but compassion. "What's this about?"

I looked back through the sea of black robes and gestured vaguely in Mike's direction. I had cried to him enough over Mike; I didn't want to do it again. "It's nothing," I said again. More tears welled up and fell, and Carlisle pressed one finger to my chin, guiding my face back to him. He dabbed his handkerchief under my eyes and slipped an arm around my shoulders.

"Are you attending the ceremony?" he asked.

I shook my head, but I realized that he must be on his way there. "No, I was just thinking about going and getting some lunch," I told him.

Carlisle glanced toward the park and then back at me. "Would it be horribly rude of me to invite myself along?"

"Aren't you going?"

He dismissed it with a wave. "It's the same thing every year. 'You're the best and the brightest, you can do anything you put your minds to.'" His smile made his eyes sparkle. "I can practically recite it by now." He took my hand and rose, pulling me to my feet.

I couldn't help but return his smile. "So why do you keep going?"

"It's good for me to get a dose of undiluted positivity every now and then," he said. "It keeps me from becoming a bitter old man."

I pulled my hand back. "What kind of person would I be if I kept you from that?"

He grabbed my hand again, tucking it into his elbow. "A half an hour with you is worth days of clichés borrowed from motivational posters."

"I'm flattered," I laughed through my tears, trying not to let him see just how deeply his playful compliment affected me. I held his arm, allowing him to guide me to the nearest café.

We ordered our food at the counter and Carlisle waved me off when I pulled my wallet from my purse. He dropped some cash on the counter and carried our tray of food to a table in the courtyard. "So," he said, settling into his chair and crossing his arms, "what's got you so upset?"

I groaned and dropped my head onto the table. "I don't suppose there's any way you can just forget that you saw me bawling like an idiot in public?"

He smiled sympathetically. "I could be persuaded to," he said gently, "as long as I can be convinced that you're alright."

I sighed and lifted my head. "I'm fine," I said apologetically. "Just . . . dealing with this break-up . . . or _not_ dealing. I don't know."

"I see," he murmured.

"It's stupid," I muttered, feeling embarrassed.

He shook his head. "No, Bella. It's not stupid to be upset over losing someone you love."

"You know what I like about you?" I said. "I act like an idiot, and you justify it for me."

His eyes sparkled. "I'm a very talented enabler."

"Just what I needed."

"You know what they say," he mused, taking a bite of a pickle spear. "The best way to get over a break-up is to find a rebound. Has anyone new caught your eye?"

A grin pulled at the corner of my mouth. "I might have had an interesting weekend," I admitted.

"Really?" He raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Found a young man to get you back into the game, did you?"

I poked at my salad, feeling my cheeks burn. "Not . . . exactly."

He looked at me expectantly, taking a bite of his sandwich.

I couldn't quite suppress my smirk. "I sort of got wasted at a frat party and spent the night with a girl."

His eyes went unfocused for a moment, and he swallowed hard. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice sounding slightly off.

I giggled at his reaction. "I had a _lot_ to drink."

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Mm-hm."

I laughed harder, biting at the plastic tines of my fork. "Tell me, something, oh wise Doctor of Anthropology," I teased him. "What quirk in our evolutionary history makes it so every straight man on the face of the earth goes weak in the knees at the thought of two women sharing an exclusive and inherently unproductive sexual experience?"

He drew in a slow breath. "I promise to give your question due consideration just as soon as I can think clearly enough to analyze it."

I snickered and popped an olive into my mouth. "You do that."

He gestured for me to continue. "So . . . how was it?"

I frowned. "Sort of awkward. Not quite right. But interesting."

"So then, you wouldn't classify yourself as gay or bisexual?"

"Nope."

He furrowed his brow "May I ask . . . what made you decide to try it?"

"You mean, _other_ than the copious amounts of alcohol?"

He nodded. "Alcohol will lower your inhibitions, but unless you were predisposed to same-gender attraction, it's still a bit of a stretch. Unless you had another reason?"

I giggled to myself. "I had a couple of reasons, actually."

He waited, watching me curiously.

"First of all, I went there on a mission," I told him. "I wanted to get drunk and get laid, and it wasn't working out with any of the guys."

He raised an eyebrow. "That seems a bit hard to believe," he said softly. His eyes swept over me in an almost involuntary motion before jerking back to mine, and I ducked my head as I felt my cheeks burn. A self-conscious smile pulled at my mouth, and I took a quick bite of my salad in an attempt to hide it.

"It just wasn't my night," I mumbled after I swallowed. "But Rosalie was there, and interested, and well . . ." I trailed off, shrugging.

"I see," he said with an amused smile. "Lucky Rosalie. And what was your second reason?"

I scrunched up my nose. "Are you sure you want to know? It's even more ridiculous than the first one."

"In that case, I definitely want to know."

"Well, I mean," I twisted my fork in my salad, "it's almost expected, isn't it? For a girl to have that 'one time in college' experience? And apparently I'm a fan of the cliché."

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you, now?"

I chewed at my lip, peeking up at him from under my lashes. "I can't seem to help myself. I have an unnatural compulsion to make my life as much like a bad sitcom as possible."

"Alright, I'll bite," he grinned. "What else have you done that's so cliché?"

"I lost my virginity on prom night," I told him. "I took a road trip to L.A. to try out for _American Idol_. And one weekend when my mom was away I let this guy talk me into throwing a kegger at my house, and Mom came home in the middle of the party." I tapped my finger thoughtfully against the table. "Although, actually, that one might not count because Mom wasn't upset. She just joined in . . . and I think my friends actually liked her better than me."

Carlisle laughed out loud. "I think it counts."

"So how was your weekend?" I asked, pointedly changing the subject. "How did your date go?"

He dropped his eyes, a his smile turning a little regretful. "As expected," he said.

"She dumped you, huh?" I asked with a grimace. "Did you at least get laid?"

He laughed again. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"So how does that work?" I asked. "You say you don't want kids, she says she's through with you, but then she sleeps with you anyway?"

He smiled wryly. "Not quite," he said. "They usually don't come right out and tell me that's the reason they lose interest. I see the disappointment in their eyes when we talk about it, but they still pretend everything is fine for the rest of the night." He smiled sadly. "Then the very honest ones tell me they don't see us going anywhere, and the others simply stop taking my calls."

There was a sadness behind his casual explanation, a loneliness that made me ache for him. "That kinda sucks."

He smiled, and it only looked slightly forced. "It's really not so bad. I'm not interested in anything long-term anyway."

"Isn't that lonely?"

He considered my question. "Occasionally," he said. "Most of the time I'm not bothered, though. I find I'm quite fond of my own company."

I laughed and took another bite of my salad, feeling a pleasant tightening in my stomach. I was pretty fond of his company myself. "So what's next? Another teacher from the Culinary Institute?"

"I think I may have exhausted my options there," he admitted self-consciously.

I reached over and plucked a fry from his plate. "Gonna start dating the students, then?"

Carlisle's jaw dropped. "Did you just _steal_ my french fry?"

"That's what you get for taking my Clusterfluff the other night," I answered blithely. "You don't mess with a girl's Ben & Jerry's."

He shook his head disapprovingly, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "You know that means you have to surrender a crouton."

"Oh, is that the penalty?"

He nodded, looking at me expectantly, and I gave in. I scooped up a crouton with my fork and held it out to him, my eyes locked on his gorgeous blue gaze as he leaned forward and accepted it. I couldn't help feeling slightly jealous of the fork as I watched his lips close around the bread, and the corners of his mouth quirked up as he drew back.

"You're forgiven," he said with a cocky grin as he chewed the crouton.

I was sorely tempted to steal another french fry.

We teased and bantered our way through lunch, and by the time we were wrapping up our trash, I had nearly forgotten my moment of weakness on the steps of the bookstore.

"Thank you for this," I told Carlisle sincerely as I stood up. "It was really sweet of you to cheer me up."

"Any time," he answered. "In fact . . ." He plucked a napkin from the dispenser and produced a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. He quickly scribbled a number on it. "My cell," he explained, passing it to me. "Call me any time you need a distraction."

I was deeply touched by the gesture, and I didn't quite know what to say. I decided the proper thing to do would be to return the sentiment, so I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed, "You too," onto the screen, texting it to the number on the napkin.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he smiled at me. "Where are you headed now?"

"Home, I guess," I said. "I have boxes to unpack."

He piled our garbage onto a tray and carried it to the bin to toss it out. "Come on," he said, holding a hand out and guiding me out of the café with his fingertips just barely brushing the small of my back. "I'll walk you to your car."

Electricity radiated through me from the spot where his hand grazed my back, making it difficult to focus on anything else. Thankfully, Carlisle seemed content to walk beside me in silence, so I didn't have to try to keep up with a conversation. He pulled his hand away when we reached my truck and I felt the loss immediately.

"Are you taking the week off," he asked, "or will I see you in the library tonight?"

"I'll be there," I smiled.

"All right, then." He gave me a hand up into my truck and stepped back, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I'll see you tonight."


	7. Fear and Trembling

**********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**********

* * *

><p><strong>7. Fear and Trembling<strong>

My new bed arrived before I went to sleep that night, much to my relief, and with it came a care package from my mom containing piles of new clothes. Her logic: since I was single again, I needed to start showing more skin. I didn't care so much about putting myself on display, but I was excited about the clothes simply because summers in Southern California were brutally hot, and the only way to survive them was to wear as little as possible on those long, sweltering days. Mom had provided many suitable new wardrobe options.

And of course, showing more skin meant hair removal, and God bless her, she had thrown several gift certificates to a nearby salon in the bottom of the box. I called and made an appointment for a thorough waxing right away.

The week was spent unpacking and setting up the apartment. I waited every day for a new roommate to be dropped into my lap, but it looked like more people were moving out than in, so for the time being, I was alone. Jacob had decided he couldn't abandon his roommates to come move in with me, which I understood completely. After all, they would have to cover the extra cost if they lost a roommate, where I didn't.

I settled in, bought books for my new classes, and every night I headed to the library and got a head start on the pile of classic novels that had been assigned for my American Literature class. When I walked in Monday night, Carlisle smiled and nudged out the chair across from him with his foot, a wordless invitation for me to join him even though the room was empty. I was all too eager to oblige.

There wasn't much conversation, though twice that night Carlisle came across tidbits in his reference materials that he thought were interesting, so he shared them with me. Once he asked my opinion on the wording of a sentence. It set a precedent for the rest of the week, and though we generally worked in silence, we would speak to each other when we found something share-worthy in our reading.

It was a comfortable pattern, and yet it left me feeling unsatisfied. I spent my days looking forward to my evenings, and I spent my nights spinning vivid fantasies of Carlisle Cullen doing dirty, dirty things to my body.

Classes started, and the pattern continued. It helped that now I had schoolwork to distract me, but I still spent far too much time thinking about Carlisle and his hypnotic eyes, his easy smile, his long, tapered fingers, and that unbuttoned collar and loosened tie that just begged to be stripped right off of him.

A couple of weeks into the new term, though, everything changed. I had come home from the library and gulped down a bowl of Ramen noodles, and I was fantasizing about Carlisle while washing my dishes in the sink when a wave of dizziness washed over me. I dropped the pan I had been wiping and gripped the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself, but it only got worse. It wasn't until my bowl tumbled off the counter that I realized that the motion wasn't in my head. The kitchen around me was lurching and shuddering, and I let out a little shriek when I realized what was happening.

"Earthquake," I whispered in horror, feeling the blood drain away from my face.

A sudden, violent shift knocked me off of my feet, and I barely managed to keep myself from careening into the broken glass of the fallen bowl. I scooted back against the cupboards, but a small casserole dish fell from an overhead cabinet and smacked me hard on the shoulder, sending pain rocketing down my arm. A quick glance up told me that a stack of plates was getting ready to fall, and I quickly scrambled out of the way, not even looking back when I heard them crash to the floor.

I let out a stream of terrified profanities as I crawled into the living room, only narrowly avoiding a floor lamp that toppled over as I moved past it. I was looking frantically around the room for other possible hazards when, with a fizzle of electricity, the room was plunged into darkness.

I choked back a shriek, trying to convince myself not to panic. What the hell were you supposed to do in an earthquake? Weren't there rules or something? I was sure I had heard somebody talk about it, but all I could remember was that you were supposed to stay off the roads to let emergency vehicles through. I fully intended to follow that rule, but it wasn't helping me protect my head from falling household items.

The best I could do was try to avoid them. I felt my way clumsily over the violently heaving floor to the corner where the lamp had been, and curled into a ball, trying to take up as little space as possible. I could hear the couch thudding against the carpeted floor, and I whispered a silent prayer that it wouldn't start bouncing my way. I didn't want to end up as a tragic story on the news: girl crushed to death by galloping furniture.

A picture fell from the wall nearby, and I heard more glass breaking in the kitchen. My mind moved to my bedroom, and I fervently hoped that nothing would fall onto my laptop, which was sitting in a corner by the closet. I really didn't want to lose the twenty-page analysis I had written on _The Red Badge of Courage._

I rolled my eyes at myself for thinking of homework at a time like this, and tried to peer through the inky darkness at what was going on around me. I couldn't see a thing. There was no light from _anywhere_, not even the streetlights outside the window, which meant there wasn't much I could do to avoid any more falling debris.

The shaking lasted for a few seconds more, and then slowed and stilled, and then it was only my own body quaking. I stared around the black room suspiciously, as though my possessions might start attacking me again.

And then I started to cry.

I was too afraid to move out of my corner, so I hugged my legs to my chest and sobbed into my knees. I wanted my daddy. I remembered a brief conversation we had had when I told him I wanted to come to attend USC, and pictured the appalled expression on his face.

"Southern California?" he had said, his voice strained. "Don't they have earthquakes down there all the time? Baby why don't you stay here and go to U-dub?"

I started laughing hysterically through my tears. Seattle was sounding awfully pleasant right now, if only because Charlie would be just a few hours away.

He was going to lose it. Mom too. I needed to call them so they wouldn't worry. I tugged my cell phone out of my pocket and tried to steady my breathing as I flipped it open, illuminating the space around me in weak blue light.

No bars. Of course. The earthquake had probably knocked out the cell towers. Why had I thought it was a good idea not to get a land line, again?

Of course, those were probably out as well.

I suddenly felt very alone. Since Charlie had given me a cell phone for my twelfth birthday, I had never been without a way to contact my parents. I was completely cut off from them now, and I didn't even have my Jacob to fall back on.

Clearly, the only thing to do was cry some more, so I did. I rubbed my bruised shoulder and sniffled pathetically as I tried to work through the shock of the earthquake.

I wished I had Mike there with me. Despite the betrayal I had felt at his infidelity, he had always been good to me. If I hadn't left him, I might not be alone now.

I really didn't want to be alone.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, or how long I _would_ have sat there, had there not been a knock at the door. My breath caught in my throat, and the first thing I thought was, _Looters._

That was quickly followed by a derisive snort at my own idiocy. Looters didn't hit cheap college dorms, and they sure as hell didn't knock.

I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet, shuffling my way along the wall in my bare feet until I reached the linoleum of the kitchen and dining area. I knew the kitchen floor had to be covered in broken glass, but I wasn't sure how much would have spread across the path to the door. I opened my cell phone again, and used it to light my way as I tiptoed carefully through the wreckage.

I swung the door open, and my heart leapt into my throat. Carlisle stood on the other side, his hair slightly disheveled and his beautiful face tense.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Relief flooded through me and I threw my arms around his neck, bawling into the strap of his laptop bag where it lay across his shoulder. He wrapped me in his warm embrace and stroked my back soothingly.

"Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, trying to swallow back my tears. "I'm fine," I choked out, as much to myself as to him.

"Come on, let's get you inside." He scooped me up in his arms and took my phone from me, using it as a makeshift flashlight to guide him across the gritty floor to the couch. He lowered me onto the cushions and settled next to me, clicking my phone closed and plunging us into blackness.

It was hard to believe how dark LA could be when the lights were out. I couldn't see a thing, and my hand instinctively sought out Carlisle's, searching for an anchor.

"I'm sorry," I sniffed. "I'm totally over-reacting."

"Is this your first earthquake?"

"Yeah," I said, swiping at my tears.

He chuckled softly and shifted, and I realized he was removing his laptop bag and setting it on the couch beside him. When he was free of it, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. "Believe me, I understand. There's something entirely unnatural about solid ground moving beneath your feet."

"Are _you_ okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he assured me. "Though, to be honest, I doubt that the library will be available any time soon. It was quite a mess when I left."

"You were still at the library?" I asked. "And you came here?"

His arm tightened around me. "I was worried about you."

"I'm really glad you're here," I said. I started to snuggle deeper into his chest, but the couch gave a lurch, and suddenly everything was shaking again. The light from my phone lit up the room, and Carlisle pulled me quickly across the living room and slid under the dining room table, tucking me against his body. He pulled my head down against his chest, and I clung to him, taking comfort in the strong arms that held me.

"It's only an aftershock," he murmured reassuringly in my ear. "The worst is over, just a few little hiccups to work through." He snapped my phone closed, and a wave of panic crashed over me at the sudden loss of light.

"Leave it on!" I choked. "I can't see, I have to see!"

"Shhh, Bella, just relax." He rubbed my back soothingly. "It's best to spare the battery if we can. It's hard to say how long the power will be out."

"But if we can't see—"

"Just trust me," he said, cutting me off. "I'll see you safely through this, I promise."

His reassurances didn't dispel my fears, but I did relax a little. After all, my frazzled mind reasoned, this wasn't such a bad way to go. If the earth was going to open up and swallow me, at least I got to spend my last minutes in Carlisle's arms.

As if to keep me from getting too complacent, the glass door that led to the patio broke. One pane shattered entirely, and the other barely held together, a spider web of cracks skittering across the glass. I jumped and fisted Carlisle's shirt in my hands, reminding myself to trust him. He obviously knew what he was doing, and I had to admit that taking refuge under the table was a much better idea than huddling in a corner and hoping nothing fell on me. I did, however, wonder how well-constructed the table was, and I decided it was probably best that I couldn't see anything. If I were to look up and find the word IKEA printed on the underside of the wood, I would lose a lot of confidence in the table's ability to withstand a blow.

The shaking didn't last as long this time, thank God. Carlisle loosened his grip a little when it stopped, but I didn't. He chuckled softly, and I thought I might have felt his lips brush softly across my forehead, although at that point it was possible that I was starting to lose my mind.

"It's over, Bella," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We can get out from under the table now."

"I don't want to," I said petulantly. Part of me feared another aftershock, and part of me feared trying to pick my way through more shattered glass in the dim light from my phone . . . and _all_ of me wanted to keep Carlisle right where he was, wrapped around me, keeping me safe. "What if there's another one?"

"Then we'll come back."

"Isn't it easier just to stay here?"

He laughed softly, and my phone illuminated the darkness again. He gently pried himself out of my iron grip as he surveyed the damage. Actually, it looked basically the same as it had before, though with the addition of a scattering of glass covering the carpet next to the patio door.

"You know, it probably is," Carlisle said. The table had danced away from the wall during the quaking, and he grabbed the legs and pulled it back into place. He settled back against the wall and drew me to his side, wrapping a casual arm around me before clicking my phone closed again.

He smelled incredible.

"So," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him, "how are you liking your new classes?"

I knew he was trying to distract me and I was all too willing to let him. "I got stuck with Dr. Berty again," I said.

Carlisle chuckled. "He's a bit of a slave driver, isn't he? It's almost a shame he's so brilliant. Which class are you taking?"

"Stylistics," I said, and I couldn't help but smile. "Books and linguistics . . . two of my favorite things in the world."

He affected a shudder. "Honestly, Bella, I can't imagine anything more tedious."

"I can. Anthropology."

He laughed appreciatively and gave my shoulders a squeeze.

"What about you?" I asked. "How many classes are you teaching?"

"Only two this semester, an Anthropology and a Religious Studies. The Archaeology students tend to use the summer terms for more hands-on—"

I jumped and squealed as something hit the floor and shattered, and I grabbed onto Carlisle, waiting for more shaking.

He chuckled softly. "Things are going to be settling for a little while. It's nothing to worry about."

"I'm transferring to U-dub," I muttered sullenly.

"That's a very bad idea." Carlisle's hand massaged my shoulder absently. "Washington is primed for a tectonic disaster far worse than this little quake."

"It is?"

"Indeed. Mt. Ranier has been building up pressure for quite a long time, as has the convergent plate boundary off the peninsular coast. The first one to break will likely set off the other, which will in turn cause a tsunami that should wipe out the entire Olympic Peninsula."

He said the whole thing calmly, as though commenting on a particularly interesting artifact, and I shuddered.

"So any day now, my Dad could get hit with an earthquake, a volcano, and a tsunami all at once?"

"So they say," he said lightly. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"_Why not?_"

"Because you can't spend your entire life being afraid," he replied. "It could happen today or five hundred years from now, and even if you could narrow down the time frame, what are you going to do about it? Plate tectonics are a little beyond our control."

"I'd tell Charlie to move!"

"Where?" he asked. "Here? We have a constant stream of minor earthquakes. Back east? Hurricanes. Midwest? Tornadoes."

"At least those come one at a time," I muttered.

He tightened his arms around me, and I felt his lips press softly against the top of my head. When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy. "This is a cruel world, Bella. No matter how far you run, you can never escape it. The best we can do is take life as it comes."

I had a feeling he wasn't talking about earthquakes anymore.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"You keep saying stuff like that," I said. "Like when you told me that you're irredeemable. What happened to make you say that?"

He was quiet for several long moments, and though he still held me close to him, I worried that I had upset him. I couldn't see his face, and had no way of figuring out what he was feeling, so I chewed my lip and waited for his answer.

Finally he drew in a slow breath. "I don't like to talk about it."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, backing off.

"It was a long time ago," he said dismissively. "It's as pointless to dwell on the past as it is to fear the future."

Somehow, I doubted that he really meant that. I got the feeling he gave his past a lot more attention than he wanted to admit.

A chorus of loud laughter from outside distracted me from that train of thought, and I felt Carlisle chuckle silently. "Someone's enjoying the destruction," he commented.

I shook my head in disbelief. "How could anyone enjoy this?"

"It's not so bad," he said, a smile in his voice. "I've been in quakes far more severe than this one."

"And you _survived?_" I asked incredulously.

He laughed again. "I did, yes. Which gives me full confidence that you and I will make it through this alive."

"Are _you_ enjoying this?" I asked accusingly.

"Well," he hedged, "I'm not sure I would go quite that far."

"How far would you go?"

He was silent for a beat, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded slightly hesitant. "It's rather pleasant . . . having an excuse to drop in for a visit."

My heart gave a little stutter at his words, as my mind read _way_ more into them than a good sense allowed. I swallowed hard, and I couldn't quite stop my hand from running up his chest to his shoulder.

_Damn,_ he had nice shoulders.

"You don't need an excuse to do that," I said quietly. I suddenly realized how close we were, and how long he had been sitting here with me, his arm holding me tucked against his body.

I felt the steady movement of his chest falter and heard his quick intake of breath, but being unable to see his face, I didn't know the impetus behind it. Was he nervous about the situation? Or maybe excited?

_Please, God, let him be excited._

I heard him swallow, then draw in a deeper breath. "I'm not sure it's entirely appropriate for me to visit you at home."

_Shit. That didn't sound excited._

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, praying he wouldn't leave. I didn't want to sit through any more aftershocks alone.

"No, Bella . . ." His hand found my shoulder in the dark, and slid up the side of my neck to my cheek in a move that sent goose bumps dancing over my skin. "You have nothing to apologize for. Believe me, I enjoy being with you . . . more than I probably should."

"Why shouldn't you?" I asked, a tiny little spark of hope shining through the gloom.

"You're a student. I'm a professor."

"You're not _my_ professor."

"Bella—"

"I've read the handbook," I interrupted. "Unless I'm in one of your classes or could reasonably expect to be in the future, there's nothing wrong with us having whatever kind of relationship we want."

He leaned his forehead against mine, and his hand slipped back down to my neck. I heard him swallow hard and take in a labored breath. "And what kind of relationship . . . exactly . . . were you thinking of?"

I knew I couldn't answer that question. I knew I couldn't tell him that I was absolutely over the moon for him a few short weeks after the first time we had spoken. It sounded ridiculous even to me. But I wanted him—badly—and I couldn't pretend I didn't when his face was so close to mine and his warm hand was curled around the back of my neck.

There was only one acceptable way to respond to his question. I tilted my head and brushed my lips against his.

He let out a short, longing moan, and his arm tightened around me, pulling me close against him as his fingertips pressed lightly into the back of my neck. He hesitated for just a moment, then lowered his lips to mine again and kissed me hard, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I could feel the tension in his muscles, the pure, concentrated desire flowing from him into me, and I slid my arms around his neck and clung to him.

He broke away with an agonized moan, his hands moving to mine, unclasping them and pulling them between us. "No, Bella," he whispered. "This isn't a good idea."

My cheeks burned, and I was suddenly very glad for the mask of darkness. The fact that he couldn't see me made me a little bit braver than I might have been in the light, and I pressed a little harder.

"Are you saying no because you don't want me?" I asked. "Or is it something else?"

His hands released mine and slipped around my waist, pulling me close again. His lips found my neck and he nuzzled my skin, tracing his way up to my ear and pressing a soft kiss behind it. "It's not because I don't want you," he rasped in a shaky voice.

"Then what is it?"

"I can't give you . . . what you need."

I smiled to myself. "And how do you know what I need?"

"You deserve better than me, Bella," he murmured. "You should be with someone who can give you all of himself. Someone who will treat you well, someone you could have a future with. I'm . . . I'm not that man."

I slid my hands back up his chest and linked them behind his neck again. "I'm not really that woman right now, either. I'm barely out of a serious relationship. I'm not ready to start looking for a future with someone." I pulled myself forward and nipped lightly at his ear, smiling as he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"I know your boundaries," I continued. "No family, no commitments. . . ." I caught his mouth and kissed him again. "This can be just a one-night thing, if that's what you want."

"Ah, Bella," he groaned, his lips on mine. "One night with you could never be enough."

"Then take more." I could tell his resolve was wavering, and I kissed him deeply, inviting him to give in. "Take whatever you want."

He moaned needfully and moved one hand up my back to my hair, gently cupping the back of my head. I nearly crowed in triumph as he lowered me down onto the kitchen floor and slid on top of me, his solid body pinning me down on the cold linoleum. I rocked my hips up against him, earning myself another muffled, desperate cry.

His lips broke from mine, his panting audible in the thick darkness. "Why would you want this?" he asked breathlessly.

"Because you're sexy as hell," I laughed. "Besides, isn't having a fling with a professor the quintessential college cliché? How could I help myself?"

"Are you sure?" he asked against my throat, his lips never leaving my skin.

"I'm sure."

He ground his erection against me and his fingers tightened their hold on my body. "I don't hide," he said. "If this is something you'll be embarrassed to tell your friends about, we shouldn't even start."

It was a little late for that.

"No hiding," I agreed, pulling him back down to me and kissing him again.

He eased away again. "I don't share either. However long this lasts, Bella . . . you're mine. If you want to be with someone else, you end it with me first."

"I promise." At that point, I probably would have agreed to anything if he would just kiss me again.

And he did. His hungry lips found mine, and his tongue delved into my mouth. I reciprocated eagerly as my hands explored the solid contours of his back. He kept one hand under my head, and the other crept beneath my shirt, sliding slowly up my torso until he was cupping my breast in his palm.

"Dear god, Bella," he mumbled into my mouth. "The things I want to do to this body. . . ."

I gasped in pleasure and ran my hand down his back and over his ass . . . and _fuck_, he felt so good. I rocked against him again, craving more than friction, desperate to feel everything. I whimpered in protest when he pulled his hand back and pushed himself to his knees.

"We can do better than the kitchen floor."

My phone clicked open again, lighting up the area immediately around us, and we crawled out from under the table. I grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom, giving a quick glance around as we moved inside.

My dresser had fallen over, scattering knickknacks across the floor, and the lamp that had been on the night stand was now upended behind it, but other than that it didn't look too bad. I ignored the mess and went straight to the bed, pulling Carlisle down with me.

God, this was so much better. No hard floor beneath me to distract from the feel of his body, and now that he didn't have to pillow my head, he had two hands to touch me with instead of one.

And he did. _Everywhere._ We tangled together, desperately, wildly, tugging at clothes to get to the heated flesh beneath. Carlisle's mouth was, without question, the most incredible thing that had ever touched my body, and I was unashamedly vocal in my approval.

"Christ, Bella, I want you so bad," he hissed through his teeth as he deftly unhooked my bra and tossed it to the floor with both of our shirts. His lips closed around my nipple and he sucked it eagerly while I fumbled with his belt. I managed to get it undone, but it wasn't easy. All of my muscles wanted to go weak at Carlisle's touch, and I was having a hard time making them obey my commands. I had incentive, though, in the form of the sizeable bulge on the other side of the soft fabric of his slacks.

It was slightly frustrating not to be able to see him. My phone was closed again to preserve the battery, which meant I was denied the pleasure of watching his reaction as I palmed his erection and rubbed it firmly.

There was some consolation in that, with the absence of light, we had to find our way around by touch. His hands almost never left my body, and as badly as I wanted to see him, I didn't exactly mind his tactile explorations.

I managed to get his pants undone and I shoved them down over his hips, along with his boxers. He pulled back briefly to kick them off, and then his mouth was on me again, trailing across my breasts and down my stomach to the waistband of my shorts. He popped the button open, and was tugging down the zipper when the second aftershock hit.

Carlisle threw himself on top of me, covering me with his body. Both hands latched onto the slats on the headboard, anchoring us to the bed that seemed intent on jerking out from under us. I wrapped my arms and legs around him and clung to his solid frame, a distressed cry escaping my throat.

"Shh, this is nothing," he said, burying his face in my neck. "It will be over before you know it. Just relax."

I trusted him, but I didn't relax. The bed was bucking a little too vigorously for me to be willing to ease my grip on him. His comforting murmurs in my ear helped chase away the fear, though, and I waited the long seconds until the rumbling subsided.

Carlisle didn't miss a beat. His mouth was back on mine again as soon as the quaking stopped, his hands releasing the bed and moving immediately to my body once more. The interruption only seemed to intensify his need, and he yanked my shorts open and jerked them impatiently down my legs. My underwear followed quickly, and then he slowed, his hands gently caressing their way up my legs.

Thank god for that recent wax job. I seriously needed to send my mother a thank-you note.

Carlisle's hands surprised me a little. I had never looked closely at them, but I would have expected them to be soft and smooth. I could feel a slight roughness in them, though, a sprinkling of calluses that lent texture to his touch and fed the flames of my desire. He eased his hands slowly up my thighs until they met, and his fingers explored the bare skin at the apex.

"Dear god," he whispered huskily. He stroked and massaged, becoming very familiar with my smooth skin, before sliding one finger lower and teasing lightly at my slit.

I was moaning desperately, arching toward him, aching for more. Carlisle, though, suddenly seemed to be in no hurry at all. After his careful discoveries, his slid his hands farther up my body, caressing my stomach and sides.

"Please," I begged. "Carlisle, I need you."

"Patience, Bella," he murmured, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "If I'm really to be allowed the pleasure of touching you, I intend to take my time."

His words set my head spinning. And were those spots? Could a person see spots in the pitch black?

His hands crept higher, circling my breasts and then settling over them. He squeezed and massaged them, then teased my nipples to hard peaks and rolled them between his callused fingers. I threw my head back, mumbling incoherently at the ache that was building between my legs. I wanted more, wanted to feel him inside me, driving me toward release, and yet at the same time I wanted him to go slow, to take his time and keep making me feel like _this_.

He moved his fingers even higher, dragging them lightly up my neck, then cupping his hands under my jaw as his thumbs brushed gently over my cheeks. He kissed me again, hot and needful, and the low groan in the back of his throat told me I wasn't alone in my desire, that he was aching for me too.

He drew his hands back again, and I winced at the sharp tug on my hair. "Ow—watch!" I gasped as I realized what the problem was.

"God, I'm sorry." He kissed me and carefully extracted his watch from my hair, and I heard the jingle of metal and a muted thud as it landed on the floor.

I felt Carlisle shift, expected him to press my knees apart and settle between them, but instead he moved to the side and gently turned me onto my stomach. I wanted to growl in frustration, but only ended up shivering as he pushed my hair aside and kissed his way down the back of my neck.

"Don't tease me, Carlisle," I begged, though my words might have been undercut by the obvious pleasure in my voice. His mouth was moving across my shoulder, his warm breath fluttering against my skin, and I found myself distracted by the utter decadence of the sensations.

"There's just something about this body," he whispered, his mouth still on my shoulder, "that begs to be tasted."

His slightly-roughened hands trailed down my back followed closely by that utterly sinful mouth, as he returned his lips to my neck and kissed a warm trail down my spine. He slowly crawled backward, drifting lower, his hands settling over my backside just as his nose was nuzzling the dip in my back. He kneaded firmly, inching down the backs of my thighs, and then his mouth was tracing the curve of my ass. He kissed down one cheek, then the other, his breath coming harder, and suddenly I found myself flipped onto my back again. Carlisle fell on top of me, his hands suddenly grasping at me frantically, his lips meeting mine in a frenzied kiss.

Apparently, he was done being patient.

"Yes," I gasped between heated kisses. "Need you."

"Bella, please," he panted, "for the love of god . . . tell me you have condoms."

I found it incredibly difficult to respond to that question. He was kissing me again, hard and passionate, his cock grinding against me, and even _thinking_ about something other than his heated skin and the lean hips pressed between my thighs seemed blasphemous.

But yeah. Condoms. If I was ever going to feel Carlisle inside of me—and right now I doubted I could survive much longer if I didn't—I really had to get to the condoms. I peeled one reluctant hand away from his body and fumbled with the drawer in the night stand beside me, reaching in blindly until I found the unopened box.

Unopened. What the hell had I been thinking when I put that in there without opening it? How had I not foreseen a frenetic tumble in the oppressive, post-earthquake darkness?

Stupid, stupid Bella.

I wasn't having much success prying the box open one-handed, and Carlisle, apparently, got impatient. He ran a hand over my arm, following it to the drawer, and plucking the box out of my grasp. He pushed himself to his knees—which was utterly unfair, because I couldn't grind myself against him when he was sitting like that—and ripped the box open. I heard the tearing of perforated foil and the clunk beside me as the box was tossed back into the drawer.

I suddenly realized that Carlisle was about to cover himself with a latex barrier, and the thought didn't appeal to me at all. We had been in here in my bed for several long, glorious minutes, while Carlisle and kissed and touched me all over my body, but I had yet to get my hands on his rather impressive equipment. What in the world had I been thinking? I wanted to touch him, wanted to feel his weight in my hands, before the condom had to come between us. I fumbled in the darkness, finding his hands and taking the condom from him, then slid a hand down his stomach and wrapped it around the base of his shaft.

Carlisle hissed sharply, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.

Fuck, that was hot. I let my fingers trace over him, feeling the hot, velvety skin, the texture of his veins, the smoothness of the swollen head that twitched at my touch. Carlisle moaned his appreciation, but it trailed off into a strangled cry when I ran a finger over the drip of fluid at his tip and smeared it around his head.

"Bella!" he gasped. "Bella . . . ungh!" He thrust his hips as I wrapped a hand around him and pumped it firmly. "I need to be inside of you!"

I reluctantly withdrew my hand and tore open the condom wrapper, carefully rolling the latex down his thick cock. He groaned and caught my hands, bringing them to his mouth and kissing each of my palms.

"Sweet girl," he murmured, his voice tight, "sweet Bella . . . are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes." I pulled him down on top of me and laced my fingers through his hair. "Carlisle, you have no idea how much I've been thinking about you . . . how much I've been _wanting_ you . . . please."

He kissed me again, hot and hungry, sliding one arm beneath me and holding me against his chest. His other hand stroked down my side to my thigh and hitched it up over his hip, opening me up to him. He lined himself up at my entrance, his lips trailing back to my ear, and then thrust himself inside of me.

"_Fuck_," he breathed as I cried out in pleasure.

It was the first time I had ever heard a man turn that word into a prayer.

All pretense of patience disappeared, and Carlisle slammed into me, hard and desperate. I met every thrust with the same fervor, needing him, aching for him. His thick member penetrated deep inside of me, filling me up and satisfying the aching need that had been building inside of me over the last few weeks. I didn't let myself forget that it was _Carlisle_ who was pinning me down on the bed, _Carlisle_ who was kissing me senseless, _Carlisle_ who was driving into me so hard that I thought I might lose my mind. It was his touch, his kiss, his unbelievable body I had been craving, and now I had it.

"God, Carlisle, yes!" I gasped. "So good . . . so fucking good!"

He responded by sliding his hand up my body to my breast and pinching my nipple sharply, drawing a stream of delighted curses from me. He groaned needfully, pinching and rolling my nipple as he pumped his cock in and out of my soaked pussy.

There was a hard lurch that was unrelated to the relentless pounding Carlisle was giving me, and I had a confused moment before I realized that we were having another, rather listless aftershock. Carlisle barely gave it a moment's attention. His hand shot out to grip a bar in the headboard, but he didn't let up, just continued to fuck me hard and fast as the tremors rattled the furniture. My only real reaction was to be irritated that he wasn't pinching my nipple anymore. The bed jolted and jostled almost unheeded beneath us, and I clung tightly to Carlisle, my nails digging into the hard flesh of his back.

I was glad when the shaking stopped, if only because it allowed him the use of his hand again. This time he brought it to my hair, gripping a handful and pulling my head back, giving his mouth full access to my throat. He sucked and licked his way down to my collarbone and back up again, never breaking pace, still drilling into me hard and fast until I was so wound up I thought I would snap at the merest touch. I was close, so fucking close, the need inside me rising to a frenzied level. He gave another tug on my hair, growling low in his throat as he grazed his teeth over my neck, and the pure, raw desire in that sound pushed me over the edge. I gave a loud cry and tumbled blissfully into a hard, shuddering orgasm.

Carlisle released my hair and wrapped both arms around me, holding me tightly as he slammed even harder into me, satisfying the throbbing ache as it pulsed and radiated through my body. He was right behind me, his own body trembling with the power of his release, and after several more rough, needful thrusts, he sagged on top of me, panting heavily.

He moaned and rolled onto his side, slipping out of me, and I started to turn and feel for the tissues I kept with the condoms.

"No," Carlisle said breathlessly, pulling me back against him. "Please." He was still shaking, experiencing his own personal aftershocks, and he held my head against his shuddering chest. "Please," he whispered again.

I wasn't exactly sure what he was asking for, but I willingly melted into his embrace. We clung to one another, our legs tangled together, skin slick against sweaty skin, as our heavy breathing slowly evened out again.

And still he held me in trembling arms, unwilling to let me go. He was whispering something I couldn't make out, words formed around soft breaths, and he pressed gentle kisses to the top of my head.

I wished I could hear him—or better, that I could see into his mind and try to understand what he was thinking. Was he savoring the moment? Regretting it? Trying to plan a casual exit?

The thought of him leaving had my heart rate spiking again, and I did my level best to burrow right into his chest. "You'll stay with me, won't you?" I blurted out without even thinking about it.

Carlisle rolled me onto my back and kissed me gently. "If you don't mind having me here."

"I want you here," I said quickly.

His thumb stroked softly over my cheek. "We should get cleaned up."

"Yeah, um. . . ." I felt around on the bedside table, and then rolled onto the floor and searched until I came across the box of tissues. I rejoined Carlisle in the bed and handed him some, and the two of us wiped up as well as we could in the dark.

"There's a trash can . . . somewhere on that side of the bed," I said, waving idly behind him and tossing the tissues to the floor. The place was a mess anyway. I'd deal with them when there was light to see by.

Carlisle must have done the same, because a moment later he was pulling back the blankets. He folded them down at the foot of the bed, then pulled me into his arms and settled down onto the pillows, drawing the sheet over us.

"The air conditioner will probably be out for a while," he murmured, "so let me know if you get too warm."

"Mm-kay," I answered, but I doubted very much I would say anything. I was very comfortable here in my spot in Carlisle's arms, and it would take a lot more than a little stifling Los Angeles heat to convince me to leave it.

I drew in a deep breath, taking in the scent of his body, and snuggled just a little bit closer to him before letting myself start to drift off.

The last clear thought I remembered having before I fell asleep was that I needed to tell Charlie that earthquakes really weren't so bad.


	8. Sufficient Unto the Day

************Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.************

* * *

><p><strong>8. Sufficient Unto the Day<strong>

I woke the next morning to an unfamiliar beeping noise. I pried my reluctant eyes open to stare in confusion into the darkness around me. A slight glow of pre-dawn light filtered through the blinds, allowing me to make out vague outlines of the chaos around me, but I couldn't figure out what was beeping.

Carlisle groaned softly. His hard body was pressed against my back, his arm draped over me and his hand resting loosely around the base of my throat. He drew it back, and I felt the loss of his body heat as he rolled away from me. From the sound of things, he was rummaging through his clothes on the floor beside the bed, and after a moment the beeping stopped. Pale light shone from behind me, and I heard the tone of buttons being pressed.

Who the hell was he calling so early?

"Are you getting service?" I asked sleepily.

"Yeah." His voice sounded raw and rough from sleep, and I felt a little thrill run through me. Rosalie had been great and all, but nothing she had done had affected me as deeply as that one unintentional reminder of Carlisle's masculinity.

So apparently I wasn't a lesbian. Good to know.

Carlisle sank back down in the bed, his phone pressed to his ear, and after a moment he snapped it closed and tossed it back onto the floor. "Classes are canceled."

"Please tell me you don't actually get up this early?" I asked sleepily.

"Not today."

He moved back into his old position, his hand returning to my throat, but his fingers brushed across my nipple on the way and my breath caught as electricity shot through me at his accidental touch.

He paused, and then slowly dragged his fingertips back down my chest, finding my nipple and circling it lightly.

"Oh, god . . ." I breathed.

He palmed my breast, applying gentle pressure, and I moaned softly, letting my eyes slip closed.

My body was still heavy with sleep, and somehow that seemed to intensify the sensations, making every brush of his fingers thrillingly significant. I arched my back to press against his hand, and he worked his other arm beneath me and traced his fingers down my stomach to the bare skin between my thighs.

"This is so fucking sexy," he murmured in my ear, his voice thick with an enticing combination of drowsiness and lust.

I propped my foot against the mattress and raised my leg a little, giving him better access. His fingers lingered a little longer over my mound, and then slipped down and gently pressed against my clitoris.

I shuddered with pleasure and pushed back against him, feeling his growing erection trapped between us. The evidence of his arousal only made me want him more, and I rubbed shamelessly against him, eliciting a low moan.

"Bella. . . . "

His hands moved lazily over me, his touch slow and undemanding, but I could feel him growing ever harder, and I had no doubt about where this was headed. I slipped my hand back to his hip, stroking invitingly.

"I want you," he whispered. He nipped lightly up my neck and sucked my earlobe into his mouth.

"I want you," I returned. I shifted my hips forward just slightly, then slid my hand down between us and gripped his solid length. He groaned in pleasure as I stroked him, slowly and deliberately, despite the slightly awkward angle.

He returned the favor. Two fingers slid inside of me, and he began pumping in and out in a slow, languid rhythm.

"Mmmm . . . feels so good." I was still trapped in a haze of drowsiness and desire, and my words came out slightly slurred. I decided it might be better not to talk anymore, and Carlisle seemed to feel the same way. He gently kissed my back and shoulders, using only his hands to pleasure me. He fondled my nipples and teased my clit until he had me panting and writhing.

His hand drew back from my breast and he rolled me onto my stomach, shifting nearly on top of me as he reached over me to the drawer in the bedside table. He fished around for a moment and came up with a condom, then rolled us both back onto our sides.

His fingers slid out of me, and I whimpered. I waited impatiently, listening to the tearing of the foil packet, feeling the small movements behind me as he rolled the condom over his shaft. Then his hand was on my ribs, sliding slowly down my side, my hip, my thigh, gently guiding my leg back until it hooked behind his. The position opened me up to him, and he lined himself up carefully before pushing slowly inside of me.

I whimpered in pleasure, but I didn't speak. The drowsy haze was too blissful, blocking out everything except the feeling of Carlisle touching me, surrounding me, penetrating me.

His movements were slow and deliberate, a sharp contrast to the rough frenzy of the night before. And it was still perfect. Something about his skin, his scent, the way his body just seemed to _fit_ with mine, made everything ten times better than anything I had felt before.

His steady rhythm started to speed up slightly, and his hand crept between my legs again, his fingers pressing firmly against my clit. I moaned in pleasure as he paced his strokes with his thrusts and I gripped his hip hard, digging my nails into his skin. He gave a little grunt of pleasure and quickened his pace a little.

_God_, he was incredible.

It didn't take me long. Between his insistent strokes and his masterful attention to my clit, I was wound up tight and ready to burst. His warm breath on my neck and low sounds of his own pleasure only pushed me closer. And finally, as his pace became jerky and needful, as his hand gripped my hip to brace me as he pumped hard into me, I snapped, gasping his name as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.

His arms tightened around me as he followed me over the edge, a groan of pleasure escaping his throat as he did. His hips jerked against me, hard and uncontrolled, before his muscles released and he slowed to a few soft, gentle thrusts.

"Fuck," I whispered.

He didn't answer, but his lips left a trail of soft kisses across my shoulder before he slid out of me and rolled away. He disposed of the condom and we cleaned up quickly, before rolling back into place on the bed. His arm came around me once more, his hand sliding up to circle the base of my throat again, and we both sank wordlessly back into sleep.

* * *

><p>It was light when I woke again, but neither one of us had moved. I felt slightly stiff from having slept so long in the same position, and the heat of the day was settling in. My first impulse was to turn on the air conditioner, but a glance at my blank alarm clock told me that the power was still out.<p>

It was too hot to stay here like this and I badly needed a good stretch, and yet I was reluctant to move just yet. I could hear the sound of Carlisle's deep breathing behind me, and I didn't want to disturb him.

His hand had fallen away from my throat sometime while we slept, and it lay curled on the mattress in front of me. My eyes inspected his fingers curiously. They were dry and slightly cracked, with a few light calluses scattered here and there, and once again I wondered idly about his hobbies.

A black mark on the inside of his wrist caught my eye, and I gently straightened his hand so I could see it. There was a pale stripe around his arm where his watch prevented the sun from darkening his skin, and in that stripe, a date had been tattooed in small, black script.

**_June 11, 1990_**

I ran my finger over the date, thinking idly that it was just over three months before I had been born. I wondered what the significance of it was to him.

Carlisle stirred, and his arm tightened around me. His hand cupped around one bare breast as his lips moved to my neck.

I smiled and hummed lightly, taking the opportunity to stretch a little. "Good morning," I said. "How did you sleep?"

"Like the dead," he answered, his voice still slightly rough.

"Wait . . . so we _didn't_ make it through the earthquake alive?"

I felt the rush of air as he laughed silently at my poor joke. "Very funny." His hand moved down to my stomach and tickled me lightly, and I giggled and squirmed in his arms until he let me up. He chuckled as I settled back against him again.

"What's this?" I asked idly, running a finger over the inside of his wrist.

Carlisle jerked his hand back abruptly and rolled away from me, leaving me confused by his sudden retreat. I shifted onto my back and gave him a puzzled look as he sat up and snatched his watch off of the floor, snapping it quickly into place.

"Carlisle?"

"It's nothing," he said, his voice cold. He grabbed his boxers and pants and tugged them on, and before I could collect myself again, he was striding out of the bedroom.

I panicked for a moment, thinking he was leaving, but he only retrieved his computer bag from the living room and moved it to the bathroom, leaving the door open.

I found my bra and panties on the floor and pulled them on, then moved to the doorway and leaned against the frame so I could see him. He had fished a small bottle and a contact lens container out of his bag, and he was in the process of removing the lenses from his eyes. I waited while he plucked them out and cleaned them, then tucked them away in a case and dropped it back in his bag. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and withdrew a pair of glasses.

My knees nearly buckled when he put them on. Carlisle Cullen was unbelievably sexy, but Carlisle Cullen in glasses was my new favorite fetish. I made a mental note to try and get him to wear those in bed next time.

Assuming, of course, that there would be a next time. I wasn't sure how much I had upset him by asking about his tattoo.

"I didn't mean to pry," I said softly.

He glanced over his shoulder at me with a slightly guilty frown and held his arm out to me. I gave a soft sigh of relief and moved to his side, letting him pull me against his chest. He was silent at first, just gently stroking my hair, but after a few moments he spoke softly.

"It was a turning point in my life," he said. "I was on one path, but then something happened, and it showed me I was heading in the wrong direction." His voice sounded remote and far away. "Everything changed that day."

"For the better or worse?"

"I suppose that depends on who you ask." He pulled back and gave me a slightly disingenuous smile, dropping a quick kiss on my lips. "Come on. Let's get some shoes on and take a look at the damage."

We both moved back into the bedroom to finish getting dressed (I practically cheered when Carlisle pulled on his shirt, but didn't button it up), and I took a moment to send a quick text to each of my parents and to Jacob, letting them know I was okay. I smiled in relief at Jacob's return text, assuring me that his worst injury was a stubbed toe, and then headed toward the living room with Carlisle.

I stopped in the doorway from the hall and grimaced. Everything that had been standing was now lying on the floor, and glass was scattered everywhere. I moved immediately to the picture of my mom and me at her bachelorette party and picked it up, relieved to see that, though the glass was broken, the photograph hadn't been harmed.

The old television was lying face down on the carpet, and though the screen wasn't broken, I didn't know if everything inside was still in working order. The light bulbs in the floor lamp were broken, but it looked like it would still work. The couch and coffee table appeared undamaged.

The kitchen was worse. Pretty much all of my dishes were in a pile on the floor. The glass ones had shattered, and some of the metal ones sported small dents. The plastic ones were fine, though, so at least I could still microwave. That particular appliance was screwed into the bottom of the cupboards, and hand managed to survive unscathed.

The contents of my refrigerator hadn't, though. Various food items joined the dishes on the floor, and I doubted that very much of it would be salvageable.

"Well," I said. "That sucks."

Carlisle chuckled. "I'll help you get cleaned up. Do you have trash bags?"

I looked automatically at the shelf where I kept them, but of course, they weren't there anymore. I wrinkled my nose and waded into the mess on the kitchen floor, finding the bags under a ruined bag of baby carrots and a soup pan that didn't seem any worse for the wear. I grabbed a bag for each of us and set the rest of them aside in an accessible spot.

Carlisle's genial company made the clean-up surprisingly pleasant. He laughed about the ruined items, told me stories of previous earthquakes he had been in, and generally kept my spirits up while we cleaned.

About twenty minutes into the job, a beep and flashing light on the microwave alerted us that the power had come back on. Carlisle perked up and strode to the corner of the living room, where my Internet router had fallen off of its shelf and onto the carpet. He righted it and fiddled with it for a moment, but seemed unhappy. There was a red light on, showing that it had power, but there was no active Internet connection.

"The network's probably down," I told him. "Do you need to get connected?"

He hesitated. "There's a . . . webcast I usually catch in the mornings," he said. He shook his head and turned away from the router. "I'll get to it later."

"I can get you connected," I offered. "I can dial in to a network with my cell phone."

"I'm sure it's expensive," he said dismissively, but I was already heading to the bedroom to get my phone.

"It's part of my plan," I called back to him. "Charlie's a little obsessive about making sure I have as many ways to contact him as possible."

I found the connector cable in the rubble on the floor and carried it with my cell phone back to Carlisle. He had opened his laptop on the table, and I moved to his side and plugged my phone into a USB port.

He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me close, kissing me gently. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Sure."

He righted a chair and sat down at his computer, pulling me into his lap.

"So what's this webcast?"

"It's a foreign news report," he said, opening a bookmarked webpage. He clicked on a link and started the video that loaded up on his specified page. After a short musical introduction, two black men appeared behind a news desk, speaking what sounded like Spanish.

"You speak Spanish?" I asked curiously.

"Not well, I'm afraid," he said distractedly, watching the screen. "But I know enough to get the gist of what's being discussed in a Portuguese newscast."

"Portuguese?"

He smiled at me and nodded before turning his attention back to the screen.

I fell silent and let him watch, contenting myself with stroking my fingers through the multi-hued strands of his golden hair. I was having a hard time believing that he was really here, sitting with me in my apartment after indulging in the most un-fucking-believable sex I had ever had.

Twice.

I had never expected my fantasies of him to be anything more than exactly that—fantasy. But he was very real, if a bit elusive, and I couldn't believe my luck.

Carlisle's hand crept absently beneath the hem of my shirt to stroke my stomach, and I had to smile. For someone so hesitant to start any kind of a relationship, he had sure jumped in with both feet. I kissed his neck softly, and he responded by turning and giving me a distracted peck on the cheek. His eyes went right back to the computer screen, though, and I figured I should leave him to his webcast. I slipped off of his lap and started moving around the living room, righting furniture and tossing out what was broken.

I heard Carlisle draw in a sharp breath, and he leaned forward on his elbows, staring intently at his computer. I set down my trash bag and moved up behind him, looking at the footage of men in dirty clothes and helmets, brandishing machine guns as they strode through the streets of a rustic, dilapidated town.

"What's happening?" I asked.

He held up his finger, his entire focus on the video. His expression was anxious, and a little pained. I waited several minutes while he watched, then several more while he backed it up and watched the segment again. He finally turned it off with a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I rubbed his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension. "Where was that?" I asked.

He dropped his hand, looking tired. "Angola."

"Angola? Isn't that in Africa?"

He nodded took my hand guiding me around to sit on his lap again.

I stroked my fingers through his hair. "What's happening?"

"Political unrest," he sighed. "Looks like it may escalate into civil war. There's a band of guerilla soldiers attacking small towns near water sources, trying to convert them to military outposts."

"That sucks," I frowned, "but why are you keeping tabs on it?"

"There's a . . . dig," he said, not meeting my eye. "They're not far from a river. I'm a bit concerned about them."

"You know someone there?"

He glanced at me and quickly looked away. "Yes."

"How long will it last?"

"It should have been finished weeks ago," he said, sounding aggravated. "But now it looks like it will be several more months."

"Wow," I murmured. "A long time, then."

He shook his head dismissively and forced a smile. "There's nothing I can do about it, I suppose. Come on, let's finish up."

We got back to work, but it wasn't as fun this time. Carlisle still talked with me and asked me questions, but he was more solemn now, and I got the feeling that he wasn't really listening to my answers. I suddenly decided I wasn't a fan of archaeologists . . . especially ones who went on digs in dangerous environments and took Carlisle's attention away from me.

* * *

><p>"That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would," I said, slumping down on the living room couch. The place didn't look half bad. I had lost a few appliances, and it turned out that the television wasn't salvageable, but those things belonged to the apartment complex anyway, so I wasn't too upset. My laptop had survived, and Carlisle said there were no signs of structural damage, so that sounded positive. I would have to replace a few photo frames, but nothing of real value had been destroyed.<p>

Carlisle was putting away the vacuum he had just been running meticulously over the carpet. He gave me a warm smile as he wheeled it into the closet, and then came over to sit by me.

"It wasn't half bad," he said. "Now let's hope we don't have any major aftershocks that make a mess of things again.

My eyes widened, and Carlisle laughed, patting my knee.

"Relax, Bella. We might get a few little tremors, but I think the worst is over."

"I'm starving," I said, leaning against his arm. "Do you think I have any food left that wasn't destroyed?"

"Let's take a look." He rose and held out his hand to me, pulling me to my feet. We headed into the kitchen, and I sifted through the pantry until I found a half loaf of bread and a jar of peanut-butter.

"We have food!" I crowed delightedly.

Carlisle laughed. "That will get you by until the grocery stores open again."

I found a knife and made some sandwiches, but all my plates had been broken, so we just ate them at the kitchen sink.

"We should get over to your place and get to work," I said when we were almost finished.

"Oh, no, you don't have to help me," he protested. "I've done this by myself often enough."

"You helped me. Let me return the favor."

He cocked his head to the side curiously as he chewed the last of his sandwich. "You don't mind?" he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

I wondered how long it had been since anybody had helped him with anything. "Of course not." I grinned. "I'll play any angle that lets me spend more time with you."

"You don't need an angle for that," he smiled, pulling me against him and nipping at my lower lip.

_God_, he was sexy.

He collected his things while I grabbed my purse, and we headed over to his house. I had expected something large and ostentatious, something that fit my perception of the typical USC professor's lifestyle, but once again, Carlisle surprised me. He pulled into the driveway of a modest bungalow and cut the engine.

"The yard's a mess," he commented, eyeing the branches and debris that littered the front lawn. He climbed out of the car and strode around to take my hand and help me out, then slid an arm around me and escorted me to the porch.

The inside of the house looked a lot worse than the yard, but honestly, not as bad as my place had looked. A veteran of California's notorious structural instability, Carlisle had furnished his house with more metal than glass, and had anchored his more expensive electronics to their places. Dishes were scattered all over his kitchen, but few of them were broken, and I scowled at them, my hands on my hips.

"How come your dishes didn't all break?" I asked accusingly.

He chuckled. "I keep the glass dishes in the lower cupboards."

"Wait," I said, "so your plates and glasses are all down at the bottom? Isn't that a little weird?"

"It is," he agreed, "but it's earthquake-friendly."

"Apparently."

He strolled across the great room, pulling me along with him, and headed toward a hallway. He pushed open the first door to reveal a desk, several filing cabinets—one of which was overturned—bulletin boards covering the walls, and papers scattered _everywhere_.

He sighed. "That's going to take some work to organize." He closed the door and moved to the next room, which was obviously his bedroom.

It really wasn't bad. A few items lay on the floor, but they didn't look damaged. We crossed the room and peaked into the bathroom and walk-in closet, which again had items scattered over the floor, but the only thing broken was a bottle of shampoo that lay in the bottom of the bathtub.

"I've seen worse," he said, rubbing my shoulder lightly. "This shouldn't take too long."

We headed back out of the room, and Carlisle glanced at the third bedroom before turning back toward the kitchen.

"You're not going to check that one?" I asked.

He looked pained for just a moment before smoothing out his features. "I'm sure it's a nightmare."

"Why, what's in it?"

"Files," he said, a little too quickly. "I'm rather particular about their organization, so I'll have to sort them out myself."

"Okay." I wasn't sure where this new tension was coming from, but I didn't want to bring back the solemn Carlisle from this morning, so I didn't ask. Instead I followed him to the kitchen and got right to work.

I couldn't help but notice, as we cleaned, that there weren't very many personal touches in Carlisle's house. There were no photographs, no art, not even souvenirs of any digs he might have gone on. There were some nonfiction books and research materials in his office, but they held no clues to any personal interests he might have.

The most insight I got out of cleaning his house with him was in his garage. It was a mess of tools, nails, and bolts, scattered across the floor around a large lathe that sat in the middle of the room.

I gave him a curious look as we started sorting the scattered items, and he smiled.

"I do some woodworking, as you can see."

Hence, the calluses. Got it.

"What kinds of things do you make? Like, furniture?"

"Not really," he answered. "Mostly picture frames or shelves, but I have made a couple of curio cabinets."

"Do you sell them?"

The familiar veiled look came over his face again. "No."

I hadn't seen any picture frames or curio cabinets in his house, but I decided it was best not to press for more information.

The garage was the last room we cleaned, and when we were finished, Carlisle stood and stretched.

"I could use a shower," he announced, then gave me a wink. "Care to join me?"

I clasped my hands behind my back as I sauntered over to him. "Is that my reward for helping you out?"

"Yours," he smiled, "or mine." He slid one hand around my back and grabbed my wrists, holding them together while his other hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and stroked my side.

"You know, Dr. Cullen," I murmured, pressing against him, "if you keep that up, we might not make it to the shower."

He stooped slightly and scooped me up in his arms, heading toward the door. "That would be terrible. We'd better hurry."

It was incredible. Stripping off our clothes, stepping under the warm shower spray, fucking against the cold tiles . . . everything was perfect. I drank in his scent, reveled in the sensation of his hands moving over my body, and cherished the way his head fell exhausted onto my shoulder when we had both reached orgasm. He trembled, cradling me against his chest, his fingertips pressing almost desperately into my skin, and for a moment he was mine again. There were no secrets here, no mysterious tattoos, no imperiled digs, no hidden sorrows—nothing to take him away from me. I wished we never had to leave.

When we finished in the shower, Carlisle very generously helped me dry off and wrap the towel around me. "Would you stay with me tonight?" he asked softly.

"I don't have a change of clothes or anything," I pointed out. "But if you want you could bring some things and stay with me again."

"I'd like that very much," he murmured, pulling me against him. "I need to get a bit of editing done on my manuscript first, though, if you don't mind waiting for me."

"I don't mind."

We got dressed, and then Carlisle retrieved his laptop and we settled together on the couch. He tossed me the television remote and pulled my feet into his lap, massaging them absently as he read over his work. He occasionally released my feet to change or correct something, but his hands always came back to me.

I half-watched the television, but mostly I just let my mind wander over the events of the last couple of days. Carlisle was a little bit of a mystery. He seemed genial and easy-going, and generous to a fault, but there was also an undeniable undercurrent of sadness in him. He was quick to withdraw into himself, and he tended to be somewhat tight-lipped when it came to personal matters.

But though emotional intimacy seemed difficult for him, physical intimacy was practically second-nature. It wasn't just sex—though the sex was seriously fantastic. It was everything else, too. The way he tucked me easily beneath one arm or pulled me into his lap . . . or the practically unconscious way he was rubbing my feet now. It felt like we had been together for a lot longer than a day.

Yet, there was a physical uneasiness as well. Every now and then I noticed a sense of anxiety in his touch. His fingers occasionally gripped me harder than absolutely necessary, his caresses lasted longer, and there was a watchfulness about him that made it seem as though he expected me to vanish into thin air.

I wondered just how many people had left him. How many women had, quite reasonably, chosen children over him? How many three-date relationships did it take to make a man desperate to get everything he could out of a single day?

And I wondered how long he and I would last.

I doubted I would be the one to end our relationship. As disturbing as it was, I knew I was already getting attached to him. Wiser people would tell me that I should have learned from Mike, that I should be more careful to protect my heart, but I didn't want to. I wasn't going to lie to myself and pretend I wasn't invested in Carlisle, and I had no interest in trying to care about someone with only part of myself. If I was going to love, I was going to do it all the way, and let the chips fall where they may.

Except . . . I already knew where the chips would fall. This relationship was going exactly nowhere. Carlisle had made it clear that we were temporary, and no matter how much I wanted him, he would leave me before long.

For now, though, I was here with him and everything was perfect. I closed my eyes and smiled, enjoying the sensation of his fingers kneading my feet, fixing the moment permanently in my memory. The future may promise heartbreak, but the present was pure bliss, and I intended to enjoy it.


	9. Son of the Morning

**********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**********

* * *

><p><strong>9. Son of the Morning<strong>

Carlisle and I headed back to my house before long, and after one more frantic tumble, we fell asleep beside each other in the sultry Los Angeles heat.

I woke a few hours later to a slight tugging on the sheet. "Bella, scoot," Jacob's voice hissed in the darkness, his warm hand pushing me toward the center of the bed.

Still half asleep, I started to move over, but I stopped when I realized that Carlisle's arm was thrown heavily over me, his hand resting on my neck. I had a moment of groggy confusion as I wondered what exactly was happening.

"Scoot over," Jacob said more insistently, giving him a push.

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled.

"I'd be sleeping if you'd move _over_." He punctuated his words with a poke to my ribs.

I was still a little groggy, and I had no idea why he was in my bedroom. "Jacob, stop," I grumbled. "You can't sleep with me, there's no room."

"Whatever, there's plenty." He slid his massive self in beside me and started trying to force me over, squishing me between him and Carlisle.

"Quit it." I felt Carlisle stir beside me and I shoved Jacob back out of the bed. "I'm not alone."

"What?"

Jacob fumbled with the damaged, yet still functional lamp on the bedside table, and unshaded light filled the room. I squinted against it, the piercing brightness helping me shake off the confusion of sleep.

Carlisle gave an annoyed grunt behind me and shifted up onto his elbow.

Jake stared at him, his mouth falling open. "Um, Bella?" he said, his wide eyes trained on Carlisle. "I don't mean to alarm you or anything, but . . ." he leaned forward and dropped his voice to a loud whisper, "you have an anthropology professor in your bed."

Carlisle raised a hand to shade his eyes from the lamp and shot a perplexed look at my best friend. "Jacob Black?"

I stared at the two of them for a moment, and then started giggling. I couldn't help it. The situation was bizarre to begin with, but the fact that Jacob and Carlisle apparently knew each other was just too rich.

I sat up, the sheet slipping down around my waist, and Carlisle snatched it up again, wrapping it around my chest. His determination to protect my modesty from Jacob only added to the absurdity, and I laughed even harder.

"What's up, Dr. C?" Jacob said with a roguish grin. "How long have you been fucking my girl here?"

"Excuse me?" Carlisle did _not_ look happy. Beneath the tired confusion I could see anger simmering.

That helped sober me and I gave Jacob another push. "Would you get out of here, _please?_"

"Hell, no!" he declared. "Both of you scoot over, this bed is big enough for the three of us."

I snickered again, but Carlisle didn't seem to think Jacob was as funny as I did.

"No," I said, trying to be serious. "You can take the couch or the nasty-ass bed in the other bedroom, but you can't sleep with us."

"But I'll get scared," he said, poking out his bottom lip.

"Get out!" I snatched up my pillow and hit him with it, which unfortunately caused the sheet to droop, and once again Carlisle yanked it around me, looking harassed.

"Fine, whatever," Jacob huffed. "I didn't need to talk to you anyway." He stomped dramatically from the room, and I forced back a smile as I turned to Carlisle.

"Sorry about that," I said sheepishly. "Jacob and I . . . we don't have a lot of boundaries."

He didn't answer me. I could see his mind working behind his eyes, but he remained silent.

"I should probably go find out why he's here, or he'll be back again in a minute."

I started to rise, but Carlisle grabbed my arm and pulled me back down. He dragged me against him, my back pressed to his chest, and I felt his breath flutter over my ear.

"I don't share," he whispered darkly. "I thought I made that clear."

The anger in his voice sent icy shivers skittering up my spine. "It's not like that with Jacob," I said. "He's just my friend."

"He's just your friend, yet he shows up in the middle of the night and climbs into bed with you?"

"Right," I said nervously. "Boundary issues." I twisted around so I could see his face. "How do you know him?"

"He's been in a handful of my classes," Carlisle said, still looking displeased. "He's a rather remarkable student, as a matter of fact. I was considering asking him to be my T.A. next term."

It was impressive how he could compliment Jacob while still sounding entirely disapproving of him.

"Please don't be mad," I said. "He didn't mean any harm. If he had known you were here, he would have called first—and he wouldn't have tried to get in the bed."

Carlisle looked skeptical.

"Really," I insisted. "He didn't know. Last he heard, I was picking up girls at frat parties."

His stiff posture softened a little, but he still looked wary.

"I need to go talk to him and see what's up," I said, "or else he really will be knocking on the door again in a minute."

"I assume you'll put on clothes first?" Carlisle asked dryly as he turned and started pulling his jeans on.

I rolled my eyes, but found the pajamas that I had worn for all of ten minutes before they had ended up on the floor.

Carlisle, it seemed, didn't have much use for pajamas.

I headed for the door and he fell into step beside me, a possessive hand gripping my shoulder. I couldn't quite hide my smile. It was oddly flattering that he was staking his claim.

Jacob was sprawled out on the couch when we joined him in the living room, his ankles crossed and his hands tucked behind his head. "There's my girl," he grinned as we emerged. "So come on, let's have the gossip."

I smacked his stockinged feet. "Move."

He sat up, practically bouncing with eagerness, and I settled onto the cushion while Carlisle perched protectively on the arm of the couch behind me.

"When?" Jake demanded imperiously.

"Last night," I admitted, blushing a little. "During the earthquake."

"Wait, _during_ the earthquake?" He smirked. "How'd those vibrations work out for you?"

I was torn between grinning and . . . well, not. It was a little awkward dishing with Jacob with Carlisle listening. But after all, hadn't he said he didn't want to hide?

I glanced back at him, and then flushed, chuckling softly. "Actually, it was kind of awesome."

"Oh, come on, you weren't actually _fucking_ during the earthquake," Jacob protested.

"Technically, it was an aftershock," Carlisle said, surprising me. I peeked over my shoulder at him again, and saw a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

I could have cheered. It was like he was giving me permission to share all the intimate details that Jacob would insist on.

As for Jacob, his jaw was hanging open. "Okay, so how long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Since about then," I admitted.

He gave a scandalized gasp. "Isabella Marie Swan! Is this how you start your relationships?"

"Please, at least I occasionally _have_ relationships, Mr. Parade of One-Night Stands."

He pursed his lips. "This is about _you_, not _me_."

Carlisle chuckled, running his fingers through my hair.

"How'd you meet?" Jacob asked.

"Library."

He snorted. "You're such a nerd."

"Bite me."

"Spill it," he said. "How did crossing paths in the library turn into bumping uglies during the earthquake?"

"Wait a second," I protested. "I don't even know why you're here. Why do I have to tell mine before you tell yours?"

"Because yours is more interesting, obviously."

I giggled and conceded. "Okay. Get comfortable."

Jacob settled back against the arm of the couch, and I told him the details of how Carlisle and I had gotten to know each other. Carlisle remained mostly silent, but made sure I didn't forget him by keeping me constantly under his touch. His fingers played through my hair, down my neck, over my shoulders, and he even stroked suggestively at the neckline of my pajamas, smirking when Jacob arched an eyebrow at him.

"So let me get this straight," Jacob said when I finished. "All it takes to get you into bed is a pint of Ben and Jerry's?"

"And an apartment," I said, rolling my eyes. "Jeez, Jake, weren't you even listening?"

He flicked my knee.

"Your turn," I said, smiling as Carlisle leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my neck. "Why did you drag me out of bed at one in the morning?"

"I _wouldn't_ have dragged you out of bed if you had just let me—"

"Jacob," I interrupted sternly, and he sighed heavily.

"Dad and Rachel came down to help us out after the earthquake," he said. "You know, to make sure we were okay and all."

"Yeah?"

He glowered at his hands, his shoulders tensing. "Next thing I know, Rachel and Paul are all . . ." he shuddered, "ew."

My jaw dropped. "They hooked up?"

"It's so gross!" Jacob whined dramatically.

"How does that translate to you coming here?"

He shot me an impatient look. "Bella . . . Paul's room is _right_ next to mine. And the walls are _thin!_"

"She's sharing his bedroom?" I asked, puzzled. "And Billy didn't blow a gasket?"

"No, he did. It just didn't matter." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "You know, he was a lot scarier when he wasn't in a wheelchair and we were four feet tall."

"So you're telling me," I said, deliberately torturing him, "that you were lying there in bed listening to your sister moan in pleasure while Paul gave it to her good and h—"

"Bella!" Jacob yelled, clapping his hands over his ears. "I swear to god, if you don't cut that out I'll . . . I'll tell Charlie you've been driving without your seatbelt on!"

I gasped indignantly. "I have _not!_ That's fighting dirty, Jacob Black!"

Carlisle chuckled again, and his arms wrapped around me. "Is this the way you two always are together?" he asked amiably.

"Pretty much," I answered as Jake nodded.

"Alright, I'm convinced." He tilted my chin up and leaned down to press a kiss to my lips. "I'm going back to bed. Don't be long."

"I won't," I promised. "I'd much rather be with you than with this loser."

"Hey!" Jacob protested, but Carlisle just smiled and disappeared around the corner.

As soon as he was gone Jacob turned to me and grinned. "So is he good?"

"_Oh my god_," I said with an emphatic nod.

"Better than Mike?"

"_So_ much better than Mike. Carlisle is . . . the ultimate. It doesn't get better than him."

"How would you know?" he scoffed. "He's what, like your third?"

"_Fourth,_" I said pointedly, "if Rosalie counts."

Jacob grinned widely. "Oh, _hell_ yeah, Rosalie counts. But still, that's not very many."

"Maybe I haven't been around," I defended, "but _he_ has. I'm telling you, experience _matters_."

He leaned back and propped his feet up in my lap. "So are you serious about this guy?"

I shook my head, but gave him a guilty look. "I'm not supposed to be," I admitted. "We agreed we'd keep it casual, but. . . ."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Bella, you've got to quit this habit you have of getting invested in every guy you come across."

"Why?" I asked. "What's wrong with it? I mean, if I'm going to be with him, why can't I just be all in?"

"Because you're going to get hurt," he said. "Again."

"So what?"

He arched an eyebrow at me.

"I mean it, so what? So I get hurt. At least I didn't miss out on anything. I mean, I could hold back and only have half a relationship now, with only half as much hurt later, but when it's over I would only have had half of an experience."

Jacob scrunched up his face, but he didn't seem to be able to find an argument.

I tugged on his toe. "What was that line you were always quoting from that stupid cartoon? 'There's a time and place for everything. It's called college.'"

"That doesn't mean you have to be reckless," he said reproachfully.

I shrugged self-consciously. "This is the only way I know how to be."

He leaned forward and pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tightly. "Just don't come crying to me when you crash and burn," he grumbled.

"Whatever. You know I will."

He kissed my cheek and pulled away. "Go back to bed," he ordered. "I'll finish giving you shit about all this in the morning."

* * *

><p>Morning came <em>way<em> too early. The alarm on Carlisle's phone demanded his attention before the sun had dared to peek over the horizon, and he grunted and sat up.

I pried my eyes open, blinking away the blurriness so I could read the clock.

"Seriously?" I muttered, my voice cracking. "Five a.m.?"

He gave my knee an affectionate squeeze as he turned off his alarm. "Go back to sleep, beautiful."

"I intend to." I grabbed his hand and tugged at his arm, urging him back down with me. "And you should, too."

He gently pulled his hand away and stood up, dialing his phone as he moved to his duffel bag. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, his phone propped against his shoulder, and after a few moments he clicked it closed.

"No classes again. Campus will re-open on Monday."

"Excellent. Come back to bed."

He leaned in for a quick kiss. "I'll be back in an hour."

"An hour?" I asked incredulously, pushing myself reluctantly up off of the bed. "Where could you possibly be going at five o'clock in the morning?"

"I thought I'd do some looting, maybe hijack a car or two."

I scratched my head in confusion, trying to blink away the fogginess in my head.

Carlisle chuckled and ruffled my hair. "I'm going for a run."

"Wait . . . you're getting up at five o'clock in the morning to _run?_" I asked, perplexed. "On purpose?"

"On purpose," he confirmed.

"What are you running _from?_"

He laughed and shook his head, and I grabbed his hand again.

"Come back to bed with me. I'm sure we can find more interesting ways to raise your heart rate."

He kissed me one more time and pulled away, heading for the door. "Go back to sleep, Bella. If you're a good girl, I'll let you shower with me when I get back."

I snuggled back down into the blankets. "Are you crazy? I'm not getting up at six o'clock. If there's no class, I'm staying in bed until at least eight."

"Suit yourself." He disappeared out the door, and I let myself drift back to sleep.

He didn't let me sleep, though. I woke to the unrivaled feeling of being pulled against Carlisle's naked body, his lips traveling an eager path down my neck. His skin and hair were damp, scented lightly with my shampoo, and I sleepily mumbled my approval.

"Are you still determined to sleep until eight?" his husky voice asked me as he rolled me onto my back and maneuvered himself between my legs.

"Absolutely," I mumbled, refusing to open my eyes. "But you should feel free to continue with whatever it is you have in mind."

"Really?" He sounded amused. "So you'll just lie there and let me take you however I please?"

"That sounds like a very good idea," I answered, my voice coming out slightly breathless.

Carlisle's fingers wrapped around my wrists and moved them up above my head, pressing them gently into my pillow. His fingers trailed slowly back down, past my elbows, past my shoulders, and settled over my breasts.

"Do you know how beautiful you are, Bella?" he murmured, thumbing my nipples gently. "Do you know how much I enjoy this lovely little body of yours?"

"Enjoy it quietly, I'm trying to sleep."

Carlisle laughed softly. "Ah, little Bella. I'm far too egotistical to allow you to sleep through what I'm about to do to you."

I bit my lip in anticipation, but resolutely refused to open my eyes. "I'm not sure you have much say in the matter. I'm _very_ sleepy."

He tweaked one nipple sharply and I caught my breath, nearly letting my eyes fly open in surprise. I checked myself in time, though, and instead feigned a yawn and turned my head to the side.

Carlisle clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Such a little tease," he murmured, one hand sliding slowly down my stomach to the bare skin between my legs. He stroked it softly, admiringly, then dipped lower and let one hand trace my folds.

"Open your eyes, Bella," he coaxed. "It's time to come out and play."

"I don't want to come out, but you can play with my toys if you want."

He pushed a finger inside of me, and I squirmed a little, instinctively seeking the friction I was pretending I didn't crave.

"Your toys are only half the fun," Carlisle murmured. He added another finger and moaned his approval when his actions elicited a soft whimper from me. "That's right, sweet girl. Tell me how much you like it."

"Oh, that wasn't for you," I lied casually. "That was all about the dream I'm having."

"Oh, really?" He continued pumping his fingers slowly in and out of me. "What are you dreaming about?"

I grinned, catching my lip between my teeth again. "You."

"And what am I doing in this dream of yours?"

"Um . . . finger-fucking me?" Okay, so I couldn't focus enough to come up with anything better. Really, who could blame me?

I heard his soft laugh. "Let me guess. It feels remarkably real?"

"Yeah. Go figure."

Carlisle slowly slid his fingers out of me, ignoring my moan of protest. "Let's see how real we can make it feel, shall we?"

I felt him move until he was hovering over me, and I shivered when his teeth grazed my earlobe.

"What's happening in your dream?" he whispered, his breath washing over my ear.

"You're giving me goose bumps."

He ran one hand up my arm and then leaned down and nipped my throat lightly. I hummed in response, and he continued a trail down my neck to my collarbone, kissing and biting softly.

"Now," I told him breathlessly, "I think you're trying to have me for breakfast."

He moaned as his mouth traveled across my shoulder. "You're absolutely the most delicious breakfast I've ever had the pleasure of sampling."

I wasn't ready to give up the charade yet, but I couldn't lie still anymore. I slid my hands up his arms to his shoulders and started to explore the lean muscles on his upper back.

"Mmmm . . . reacting in our sleep, are we?" he asked. He lowered himself down on top of me, the hard length of his cock pressing solidly into my pubic bone, and I moaned.

"It's a very vivid dream," I mumbled, arching against him.

"Don't you think you'd enjoy this more if you woke up?"

"I can't," I said, then sucked in a sharp breath as he kissed his way down my chest and caught one nipple between his teeth. "I have strong moral convictions against getting up at this hour."

He increased the pressure of his teeth just slightly and flicked the tip of his tongue against my nipple. "Is that so?"

I groaned in pleasure and nodded. "It's an abomination," I said breathlessly.

He released my nipple and moved to the other one, sucking it into his mouth and laving it with his tongue. "Well . . ." he mumbled against my skin, "now we're moving into my area of expertise."

"Are we?" I mumbled. I was paying a lot less attention to what he was _saying_ with his mouth than to what he was _doing_ with it.

"Of course. Moral philosophy." His hands joined his mouth, and he started squeezing and rubbing my breasts. "I'm a doctor of religious studies, after all."

"Right. Fun at parties." _Fuck_, he had talented hands.

He thrust sharply against me, commanding my attention. "It seems my degree may offer a particularly helpful insight here," he murmured. He began crawling backward, kissing a slow trail down my sternum to my stomach. "You see, an interesting phenomenon occurs when our desires come into direct conflict with our moral convictions."

"Yeah?" I panted. I was losing track of the conversation, and it didn't help when his tongue dipped into my belly button. "What happens?"

"Interestingly enough," he said, his words slightly muffled against my skin, "the typical result is that we discard or convictions and replace them with a less rigid moral code."

"Is that—ungh, yes!—is that a fact?"

Carlisle's fingers were stroking my wet slit now, playing around my entrance. "It is," he confirmed. "And since I can tell just how _strong_ your desire is . . ." he dipped a finger inside of me and smeared the slick fluid he collected over my clit, "I expect you to capitulate at any moment."

"Dr. Cullen!" I gasped, trying to sound shocked, but mostly just sounding wanton, "are you trying to corrupt me?"

"I'm trying very, very hard," he murmured. "And I fully intend to succeed." He pulled his fingers away and crawled back up my body, hovering over me. I heard the drawer in the night stand open, followed by the crinkle of tearing foil, the sounds underscoring his determination.

"You're a very bad man," I moaned.

"Open your eyes, Bella," he murmured, kissing along my jaw to my ear.

"I can't. It's evil."

"Open your eyes." He hooked his arm under my knee and pulled my leg up over his shoulder, spreading me open.

My breath caught as he ran the hard length of his cock along my slit. "No! You're trying to taint my soul with your wicked morning person ways, and I won't let you!"

"Yes you will," he breathed. "You'll wake up for me, darling. Because you and I both know that what you want far more than sleep is to have me buried inside this little wet pussy."

He emphasized his words with a sharp pinch to my nipple and I moaned loudly. "Yes," I mumbled. "God, yes, Carlisle. . . ."

"Open your eyes," he ordered again, his voice dark with lust.

I was losing this little battle of wills, and we both knew it. Because yes, at that moment I wanted him more than sleep. I wanted him more than . . . well, than pretty much anything. But I put up one more token defense. "If I wake up, you might disappear."

He laughed softly. "Perhaps. But if you don't wake up, I'm going to give up and go get breakfast."

"No!" My eyes flew open, and I barely had time to register his triumphant smile before he shifted back and slammed his cock into me.

I cried out in surprise and pleasure and threw my head back, my eyes rolling shut again.

"No, sweet girl," he said, pushing his hand under my head and angling my face back to him. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes."

I obediently opened my eyes again, staring into his, the heavenly blue irises, darkened now with lust. "Christ, Bella, you are so fucking tight," he hissed. "I love the way this hot little cunt squeezes my cock."

_Holy. Fuck._ Dirty-talking Carlisle. It was like the universe was making good on some karmic debt, compensating for everything I had ever tripped over or fallen into.

"God, yes, Carlisle," I moaned eagerly. "So good . . . I love how it feels when you pound into me."

He collapsed on top of me, my knee still thrown over his shoulder and now trapped between us. "Are you telling me," he growled, his lips close to my ear, "that you want this, Bella? That you like having me use this sweet young body however I please?"

I gasped as a wave of desire racked my body. "Yes!" I gasped. "Fuck! Feels so good!"

"Shit!" he hissed, slamming forcefully into me. "Take it, Bella! Take my cock in that tight little hole!"

My nails scraped down his back again, the tension building hot and fast inside of me. The dirty talk was driving me crazy, and I was ready to come in what must have been record time.

"Look at me, Bella," he demanded harshly when I let my eyes drift closed again. "I want to see it. I want to watch your eyes when you come."

A shudder of desire ripped through me, and I obediently focused on his face, watching the tension around his eyes, the grim set of his mouth, the light growth of stubble along his strong jaw.

With that kind of visual stimulation, it didn't take long. Carlisle drove me relentlessly to my peak and I cried out loudly, trying to force my eyes to stay open as I came.

Carlisle must have come when I did, because the two of us went limp right about the same time. He eased my leg down and wrapped his arms around me burying his face in my neck.

I felt more than heard the whispers this time as he breathed some unknown mantra into my hair. He gripped me hard with shaking limbs, his damp hair tickling my cheek as his heavy breathing slowly eased.

Finally, after several minutes he rolled off of me and onto his side next to me. His hand crept up to lightly circle my throat, and he shot me a playful smile. "You can go back to sleep now, if you'd like," he teased.

I laughed weakly. "I think I'm up. But I'm going to be a very bitchy girl if I don't get some coffee, stat."

Carlisle rolled out of bed and offered me a hand, pulling me up. We cleaned up and dressed enough to be presentable to Jacob, then headed out of the bedroom.


	10. Between Two Opinions

******More than one person has been concerned about just how bad Carlisle's past is. I promise you, there will be no sexual abuse of children, or discussions of such, in this fic. It's certainly not an unwarranted worry, since I've gone there rather unapologetically before. I won't this time. If you were worried about it, I hope this reassurance allows you to enjoy the story a little more.******

******Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.******

* * *

><p><strong>10. Between Two Opinions<strong>

Carlisle and I spent the rest of the weekend together, bouncing back and forth between his place and mine. I loved spending so much time with him, but it became clear fairly quickly that he wasn't used to having companionship.

The first indication that he was accustomed to being alone was his morning routine. Every morning at five he went for a run. At six o'clock he was back home and in the shower, and then he would pull out his laptop and set his Portuguese webcast to play. While he listened to that, he would have breakfast—his usual was a cup of coffee and a cereal bar—shave, brush his teeth, and put in his contact lenses.

There wasn't a lot of room for social interaction. Every now and then he would hold out a hand to me and pull me close for a quick, distracted kiss, but for the most part, he preferred to be left alone.

He also spent a lot of his time working on his manuscript. Much of the reason we went to his house, in fact, was so that he could dig through the chaotic stacks of books in his office for reference materials.

I also learned, though, that I was perfectly comfortable spending time with him in silence. We talked and teased and made love enough to keep me content, and I found myself enjoying the quiet times in between. Carlisle was an undemanding presence, letting me keep up with my reading and homework without having to flee the apartment to escape his chatter.

In fact, having him there made study time _better_. It was somehow nicer to read linguistic textual analyses with Carlisle's feet propped in my lap, my fingers idly tickling his ankles beneath the cuffs of his pants. And American Literature was definitely better when I was propped against his chest, his arm thrown around me and his hand resting on my neck.

He did that a lot. I doubted he even noticed it, but whether we were tangled together in bed or sitting beside each other on the couch, his hand frequently moved to settle around my throat.

And just as he had said, he did _not_ cook. It was his habit to go out for meals or to order something in, and he tended to view all food as communal. He'd swipe something off of my plate as quickly as he'd feed me bites from his, yet another thing he did that seemed unusually intimate to me.

I liked it. I liked everything. We had settled into a very comfortable routine, and I wanted to keep it. So when the alarm on his phone rang at five o'clock on Monday morning, I resented the hell out of it.

I didn't want to go back to school. I didn't want separation. I didn't know what was going to happen now, and I wondered if we would regress to our former habits, seeing each other only in the library, with possibly the occasional date. Irrationally, I found myself wishing for another earthquake so I would have an excuse to stay here in his bed with him.

Mother nature was being disobliging on that matter, however, so I dragged myself into the shower with Carlisle when he got back from his run, and then got ready for the day. After the obligatory webcast from Angola finished, he started packing his briefcase.

"What does your day look like today?" he asked.

"Composition, eight to eleven," I said, "and then Stylistics, one to four."

"Meet me for lunch after your first class?"

I smiled and nodded as my outlook on the day brightened considerably.

"I'm heading to campus," he said, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. "Are you riding with me?"

"No, I need to stop home for a few minutes first," I told him, "but I'll see you at lunch."

"My office is room B54 in the GFS. Can you meet me there?"

I agreed, and we headed out the door, separating with a quick kiss.

I was torn between being excited and anxious that morning. Today would be a coming-out of sorts, and I was nervous about how it would go. I wondered if people would judge us when they saw us together. I wondered if they would assume I was trying to sleep my way to a better grade. But more than that, I wondered if Carlisle would be embarrassed to be seen with me. He was the one who had insisted we not hide our relationship, and he had invited me to lunch, but still, there had to be some stigma attached to professors dating students, right? Could he really be that comfortable with it?

Unless . . . unless he was comfortable with it because he did it a lot. He had protested our relationship because he was a professor and I was a student, but maybe . . . well, maybe that was just a line.

I wasn't stupid. I had so far chosen not to acknowledge it, but I knew perfectly well that Carlisle wasn't always honest with me. Usually I didn't mind so much; if he wanted to keep certain things private, I was fine with that. But the idea of him giving empty protestations in order to manipulate me into talking _him_ into bed? That made me feel like an idiot.

Hypothetically, anyway. After all, I didn't actually know if this was a common thing for him. I knew he had been with a lot of people, but he had told me over ice cream that the women he dated tended to be older than me. That, at least, hadn't sounded like a lie.

But I couldn't know. It was impossible for me to guess at all the things Carlisle didn't say. So in the end, I just decided to trust him. After all, as I had told Jacob, I was all in. Maybe it wasn't smart. Maybe I would end up looking like a fool. I could handle that.

After my composition class I made my way to Grace Ford Salvatori Hall where Carlisle had his office, and followed the room numbers to his door. I had to smile when I reached it. His office was almost as disorganized as the one at his house. We had cleaned it up after the earthquake, but his work space had remained in a constant state of disarray. He always knew where everything was, though. He could tell you which book was third down in the stack on the left corner of the desk without glancing up.

This office had two desks, one significantly neater than the other, and a T.A. sat behind the tidier one, reviewing a typewritten document. Carlisle was standing behind the other desk, grabbing various items and sliding them into his laptop bag. He glanced up when I entered the room, still gathering items from his desk. "Bella, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I have to cancel lunch so I can work with one of my doctoral students on her thesis. And," he stopped, looking up at me apologetically, "I wonder if I could ask you a favor."

I swallowed back my disappointment. "Sure, what is it?"

"I need a book from my office at home. Would you mind running out to pick it up before your next class?" He was pulling open a desk drawer and fishing around inside of it.

"Yeah, I can do that."

Carlisle finally located a small silver key and held it out to me. I moved toward him and took it.

"It's called _Origins_," he said. "It'll be on the top shelf to the left of the door, next to a set of University texts."

"Got it."

He pulled me into his arms, giving me a sweet, gentle kiss. "I'm sorry about this. Dinner instead?"

I nodded, giving him a weak smile. Maybe he was re-thinking his decision to go public with our relationship after all.

Of course, he wasn't hiding it from his T.A.

"I'll see you in the library tonight," he said. "We'll go out once we're finished."

There was a light tap on the door frame and I looked up, surprised to see Dr. Berty standing there, holding a sheaf of papers. "Cullen, do you have a few minutes? I need to go over the eligibility policy for student athletes." He stopped when he saw the two of us together and raised his eyebrows, looking amused.

Carlisle made no move to step away from me, and in fact, simply checked his watch as though he hadn't noticed Dr. Berty's reaction.

"I have a _few_," he said. "I'm meeting a student shortly." He looked over at his T.A. "Diego, I'll lock up, you go ahead and go to lunch. Be back by one; I'll have students coming by to pick up the study guide for chapter twelve."

Diego nodded a goodbye and slipped out the door.

"I'll go get that book," I said to Carlisle, feeling a little uncomfortable under Dr. Berty's speculative eye.

"I'm heading to the library in a few minutes," he said. "Can you bring it to me there? Usual spot."

I nodded and he kissed me quickly again before I slipped past Dr. Berty and headed out the door.

I was going to keep walking. I was. I wasn't going to hover in the hallway and listen in on their conversation. But as soon as I was out the door, Dr. Berty started to laugh, and followed it up with, "So, Cullen, is this the new flavor of the month?"

And even then, I could have kept going, except for Carlisle's genial answer: "I suppose you could say that."

His words hit me right in the stomach, and I stopped. Flavor of the month? Here I was, feeling hopeful about the fact that he hadn't hidden me from his T.A. or Dr. Berty, but . . . flavor of the month?

_That's exactly what you agreed to, Bella,_ the annoyingly practical voice in my head reminded me. _No strings, no commitment. Just a brief, careless fling._

But . . . _flavor of the month?_

"How the mighty have fallen," Dr. Berty was saying, his voice dry. "I thought you disapproved of relationships with students."

Well, that answered _that_ question.

"I didn't say I disapprove of relationships with students," Carlisle replied blandly. "I said I disapprove of _your_ relationships with students."

"Uh huh." Dr. Berty was chuckling. "It's alright when you do it, but not when I do?"

"Well, I don't know." Carlisle sounded amused. "Shall we ask your wife what she thinks?"

"Ah, Carlisle," Dr. Berty sighed, "you have such an ethnocentric view of monogamy."

"Wasn't there an eligibility issue you wanted to talk to me about?" Carlisle asked pointedly.

"Forget eligibility, we can do that later. This girl of yours looks familiar. Would I know her?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice sounded clipped. "Her name is Isabella Swan, and she's in one of your classes. And you'd better not treat her any differently after this, Berty, I'm not kidding."

"Oh, come now," he responded placatingly. "In two weeks, when you've broken the poor girl's heart, you can't expect me not to go a little easier on her."

There was silence for a moment, the rustle of papers, and then Carlisle said softly, "This one may last a bit longer."

"Oh, really?" Dr. Berty asked, sounding intrigued. "_Special_, is she?"

Carlisle sounded impatient when he answered. "She's a sweet girl, and she doesn't expect a lot from me. She's exactly what I need."

Dr. Berty was chortling now. "Right," he said. "The young ones always are. In a month you'll be telling me you fancy yourself in love with her."

Carlisle snorted. "Please, Berty. What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

That was about when I figured I'd had enough. I wasn't coming off a real winner in this pedantic version of locker room talk. I headed out of the building in a hurry and ran Carlisle's errand, heading back to his house and locating the book he needed. I was shutting the office door and getting ready to leave when my eyes fell on the closed door of the third bedroom, the one Carlisle had skipped over when we cleaned up the house after the earthquake.

The curiosity was so intense that it burned. That door was the only one with a lock on it, I noticed, and I could only assume that I wouldn't be able to get in. But what if it wasn't locked? What if I just moved to the room and peeked in? After all, if it was just files inside, I wouldn't actually see much just by standing in the doorway.

I clenched my fist around the key that Carlisle had given me and internally scolded myself. He had trusted me enough to give me his house key, to let he come here alone, and I was thinking about betraying that trust? It was obviously important to him that this particular part of the house remain private, and looking in there would be showing the most blatant disregard for his feelings.

I turned my back resolutely on the bedroom door and headed outside, but a small part of me wondered if I would have walked away had the door not had a lock on it. I was desperate to know more about Carlisle, and he wasn't particularly forthcoming with information. How far would I go to get it?

I drove back to school and headed to the library, finding Carlisle at his usual table with a girl who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She was sitting at her laptop and he was leaning over her shoulder, gesturing toward the screen.

"This _would_ be a good example of progression, except that the events you've described didn't actually occur in this order," he said. "These three here," he pointed to the screen, "are all dated incorrectly. It's generally agreed that there was a bit of a regression at this point."

I strode over to the table, and he looked up and smiled. "Here, let me show you," he said to the girl, taking the book from me. He flipped it open to the table of contents, then found the chapter he needed and flipped through the pages for a moment. He set the book in front of the girl and pointed to the page. "Read these three paragraphs."

She started reading, and Carlisle turned his attention to me. "Thank you, Bella," he murmured. "I really appreciate it."

"Sure," I said. I had to hold myself back from adding, "That's what flavors of the month are for." That was just bitchy, and I didn't want to be bitchy.

Well. Part of me wanted to be bitchy. I honestly didn't know how I felt about that little conversation, except I knew I didn't feel particularly good.

I held out his key, and he glanced at it hesitantly. "Why don't you hang onto it?" he said. "You never know when you may need it."

I just stared at him for a moment, completely stunned. He was giving me a key?

"Dr. Cullen?" the girl said, claiming his attention. "I don't understand this part, here. Is he saying that they regressed due to the spread of disease?"

"I'll see you this afternoon," Carlisle said, giving me a quick kiss, effectively dismissing me. He turned back to the girl, and I walked away in a daze, still holding the key in front of me.

_Flavor of the month._

_This one may last a bit longer._

_What kind of a fool do you take me for?_

_Why don't you hang onto it?_

_I need Jacob!_

I dug out my cell phone as I fled the library and dialed his number. He answered after a couple of rings, and I swallowed down the lump that was forming in my throat.

"Are you in class?" I asked him.

"Not for another hour."

"Do you have time to meet me for lunch?"

"Sure," he said. "What's wrong?"

"I really, really need you," I whimpered pathetically. "Law School Café?"

"I'll be there in five."

I made my way to the café and bought a couple of panini sandwiches for the two of us, and was just settling down at a table when Jacob arrived. I waved him over, and he came and took the seat beside me.

"So what's up?" he asked, snagging one of the sandwiches.

I still had the key in my hand, and I reached out and set it on the table between us.

Jacob looked at it, then at me, and took a bite. "What's that?" he asked around a mouthful of food.

"It's Carlisle's house key."

He looked at it again, and then back at me. "What the hell are you doing with it?"

"He gave it to me."

Jacob swallowed, raising his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

I nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't know!" I blurted out. "We haven't even been together for a week, and then he needed a book, and he was talking about me like I was just . . . I don't even know, and then I didn't go in the bedroom, and now I have a key!"

Jacob took another bite and watched me steadily while he chewed it up and swallowed it. "You know what?" he said lazily. "When you get freaked out, your voice goes up like twelve octaves, and you get all shrill and annoying."

"Jacob!" I shrieked.

"Alright, alright," he said placatingly, putting his sandwich down. "What do you want to hear? You want to hear that it's weird for you to have a key? Okay. It's a little weird for you to have a key." He shrugged. "It's also weird for you to be dating someone who's twice your age, for you to have slept with him right off the bat, and for you two to be half living together four days after you got together."

He grabbed his sandwich and took another bite. "So he gave you a key," he said around his food. "Oh, the horror, your relationship is going well."

I chewed at my lip, thinking of the conversation I had overheard that morning. "Jacob . . . what if he just doesn't like me very much?"

Jacob snorted and took a gulp of his soda to wash down his food. "It kinda seems like he likes you."

"Maybe not." I told him about eavesdropping outside of Carlisle's office that morning, and he listened thoughtfully.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked when I was finished.

I shrugged.

"What would you tell Paul if he started giving you crap about your relationship?"

"Um . . ." My fingers picked my panini apart. "I'd tell him it was just a little fling, and it would be over before long."

"Okay, then," Jacob shrugged. "Maybe this Dr. Berty guy is Paul. Maybe he just doesn't get to know the details."

"You think?" I asked hopefully.

"Bella," he said, rolling his eyes, "I was there the other night, remember? I saw him get all jealous and possessive when he thought I was competition, and I saw him decide to trust you when you told him I wasn't. He didn't seem like a guy who didn't like you very much."

"Really?"

He swallowed his mouthful. "Really. And now that you've finally managed to pry yourself off of his dick, I think it's time you gave me details."

"Details on what?" I asked.

"What do you think? The sex. I mean . . . is it all wrinkly?"

"Jacob!" I gasped indignantly. "No, it's not all wrinkly!"

"Good," he said. "'Cause it'd be totally gross if you had to suck wrinkly old man dick."

I felt heat wash over my face, and I wrapped my arms around myself. "Yeah, we don't . . . do that."

"Do what?" he asked, and then his eyes widened. "You mean you haven't sucked his dick?"

"Not for lack of trying," I muttered to myself.

He stared at me, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. "What the hell does that mean? You're not . . ." He blinked, bewildered. "You're not telling me he actually _declined_ a blow job?"

I hunched my shoulders, my cheeks burning wildly. "Yeah."

Jacob gaped at me. "Help me out here, Bella, because I'm not seeing it. You're, like, on your knees in front of him, and what? He says, 'No, thank you?'"

I pursed my lips and looked away—and nearly fell out of my chair when my eyes met a pair of wide blue ones. Rosalie was standing a few yards away, holding a tray of food. She was looking at me like she wasn't sure whether to come say hello or run for cover.

I latched onto the distraction and smiled brightly. "Hey!" I said enthusiastically. "Come join us. Or are you meeting someone?"

She moved cautiously forward, shaking her head.

"This is my best friend Jacob," I told her. "Jacob, this is Rosalie."

Jacob dropped his sandwich.

"Rosalie?" he asked, gaping at her. "As in . . . _Rosalie?_"

She gave me an uneasy laugh. "I guess that means you told him about us?"

"Ignore him," I said, pushing out the chair next to me. "How'd you come out after the earthquake?"

She sat down and held up her hand, showing off a brace on her wrist. "Nothing too serious. Just a sprain. How about you?"

"Bella made out real well," Jacob smirked. "But Bells, don't think asking Rosalie to join us is going to distract me from the subject."

"What subject?" she asked.

"Bella was just about to tell us how boring her new boyfriend is in bed."

I glared at him.

"Boyfriend?" Rosalie asked. "This isn't that Carlisle guy you were talking about, is it?"

I was a little worried that this might be uncomfortable for her, but I couldn't see any reservation behind the amused glint in her eye, so I just smiled and nodded.

"Wait, wait, _wait,_" Jacob said. "You told _her_ about Dr. Wrinkly-Cock before you told _me_?"

"Don't call him that!" I snapped. "And in my defense, I was _very_ drunk."

Rosalie nodded in agreement. "She really was."

Jacob grinned. "We're going to talk later about you taking advantage of drunk girls at frat parties," he told her. "_Extensively_. But right now we're hearing about how Cullen _turned down_ a blow job."

"He was being sensible," I said, my cheeks starting to burn again. "He says that condoms and dental dams make oral sex pointless, and he's not willing to do something that's not completely safe."

Jacob looked skeptical. "And you bought that, huh?"

"He's been with a _lot_ of women," I said defensively. "It makes sense for him to be careful."

"I'm with you, Jacob," Rosalie said. "Men don't just turn down blow jobs." She snapped her fingers. "Unless they don't want to reciprocate. Maybe he doesn't like eating pussy."

"What kind of man doesn't like eating pussy?" Jacob argued.

"A gay one."

"You guys!" I protested. "Carlisle's not gay!"

"I don't know," Jacob mused. "He could be. Maybe that's why all his relationships are so short. Maybe they bail when they figure out that he likes cock."

"That would explain it," Rosalie nodded, giving me a commiserating look.

"And it explains why he's boring in bed, too," Jacob added.

"He's not boring in bed!" I argued shrilly. "And he's not gay!"

Rosalie tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe he's not gay, and he's just careful because he has a disease he doesn't want to pass along."

"That's pretty considerate of him," Jacob said.

"He doesn't have a disease!"

"Actually, I think you're probably right, Bella," Jacob said. "Because even if he had a disease, he'd still go for the condom blow job." He patted my knee comfortingly. "I guess it's back to the gay theory. Looks like your days with Dr. Cockhound are numbered."

"Would you quit making up obscene nicknames for him?" I snapped. "And quit saying he's gay. He's _not_ gay."

"How do you know?" Rosalie asked. "I mean, how well do you know him?"

"Yeah, Bella," Jacob grinned. "How well _do_ you know him?"

"I know him well enough," I muttered.

"Yeah? Do you know his middle name?"

I bit my lip and dropped my eyes to my tray.

"His parents' names?" Jacob pressed. "Where he was born? Does he have brothers or sisters? Childhood pets? When's his birthday? Does he—"

"Okay, I get it!" I interrupted. "And fine, maybe I don't know a lot of little details like that. But I know he's a good guy. He gave me a ride home when I was stuck at school, and he told me about Mike cheating on me even though he didn't have to get involved. He took me to lunch when I was feeling bad, and he came to check on me after the earthquake. And he's just really, _really_ nice to me!"

Jacob and Rosalie looked at me for a moment, and then turned back to each other.

"Yeah, he's totally gay," Jacob said.

"Definitely."

I huffed irritably. "You both suck. And Jacob, you didn't even help me with the house key thing. Am I supposed to give him one now?"

"If you do, you'll have to have another one made," he said disinterestedly. "He can't have mine."

Rosalie frowned. "You don't know anything about this guy, but you're thinking of giving him a key?"

"He gave me one," I said weakly.

"Hm." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You know, I think I can help you out. There's this guy who works for my dad who used to be a skip tracer. I can ask him to see what he can dig up on this boyfriend of yours."

My jaw dropped. "_What?_" I practically shrieked. "No way! I'm _not_ sending someone snooping around in Carlisle's business."

"Why not?" Jacob asked.

"Because it's wrong!" I said, feeling a little overwhelmed and very uncomfortable. "He's entitled to his privacy. Obviously there are things he doesn't want to talk about, and he has a right to keep them to himself."

"If he has secrets, that's all the more reason to look," Rosalie argued.

"No," I said firmly. "No. He made a decision to trust me by being in this relationship and by giving me his _house key_, for god's sake. I have no intention of betraying that trust."

Rosalie nodded. "That's very noble."

"You're still going to call that guy, though, right?" Jacob asked her.

"Totally."

"Awesome."

I put up my hands in front of me, as though I could shield myself from their actions. "I want nothing to do with it."

"Okay, baby," Jacob said in a patronizing tone. "You just have fun in your happy little relationship, and let old Jacob handle the heavy lifting."

I sighed heavily. "I need better friends."

* * *

><p>Carlisle was already in the library when I got there that afternoon, but instead of the usual chaos of references and periodicals, he only had two stacks of closed books. I stopped and leaned against a nearby shelf, watching him as he took one from the smaller stack, flipped it open to the title page, and typed at his computer for a minute. He snapped the book closed and added it to the taller stack before starting over with a new book.<p>

I smiled to myself as my eyes took in the focused expression on his face, the way his muscles flexed beneath the crisp cotton shirt when he moved. I loved seeing him like this, involved in his work, his eyes honest and unshuttered. This was the man I had fallen for. This was the Carlisle Cullen who fascinated me.

He glanced up after a few minutes and saw me there, and a warm smile spread across his face. It filled me up, crowding out any doubt and insecurity, and when he stood and held out his hand to me, I went to him without hesitation. He enfolded me in his warm embrace and held me against his chest.

"I missed you today," he murmured. "I've gotten spoiled, having you with me all the time."

I tugged lightly at the loosened knot of his tie. "Me too."

"Have you got much studying to do?" he asked, releasing me and drawing out a chair next to his.

"Not much. I worked ahead from my syllabi over the weekend so I wouldn't end up with a lot of catch-up work."

He smiled as we settled into our seats.

"Where's your usual mess?" I asked.

"I'm done with it."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You finished your manuscript?"

"I still have some editing and clean-up to do," he said, "but as soon as I finish pulling bibliography information from these texts, I'm basically done with reference materials."

"So, no more library visits?"

"I don't intend to stop coming," he said with a self-conscious smile. "I like to be near you while I'm working."

Warmth flooded through me, heating my chest and continuing up to my face. "I don't have to come here," I said with a small smile. "I only started studying at the library because Mike was too distracting."

"You came after you moved into your new apartment," Carlisle pointed out.

I smiled and dropped my eyes. "I came then because you were here."

He didn't answer right away, and after a moment I looked up, surprised to see a look of tenderness on his face. "Did you really?" he asked softly.

I nodded.

Carlisle raised a hand and gently stroked my flushed cheek. "I'm very glad you did."

God. I could _live_ on comments like that.

Carlisle leaned close and gave me a sweet, chaste kiss. "Why don't I finish up here," he whispered, "and then you and I can take this somewhere more private."

"That sounds good."

Carlisle was particularly affectionate that evening. We picked up Chinese take-out on the way home from the library and cuddled together on the couch, Carlisle holding me between his legs as we fed each other from the various cartons. He nuzzled my neck and murmured sweet things to me, and generally just made me feel wanted.

He reluctantly let me go when we finished with dinner, so I could study and he could work on his editing. But he still held me against him, one arm wrapped around my shoulder, his hand circling my neck.

I finished after about an hour, and I tossed my book onto the coffee table. Carlisle's fingers were tapping lightly against the base of my throat, and I reached up and covered his hand with my own.

"Why do you always do this?" I asked him.

"Do what?"

"Hold my neck like this," I said. "You do it all the time, even in your sleep."

I felt him tense. "Does it bother you?"

"No, not really. It's just a little strange."

He turned his head and kissed my ear. "I like to feel your pulse," he said quietly. "I find it comforting."

"Comforting?" I giggled. "Are you afraid my heart is suddenly going to stop beating?"

His muscles tightened a little more, and his voice went slightly cool. "It's just an old habit."

The part of me that didn't like pissing him off was telling me not to push, but the part of me that was desperate to know more about him prevailed. "How do you pick up a habit like that?" I asked.

He drew his arm back and pushed his computer off of his lap and onto the coffee table. At first, I thought he was getting up to leave, and I was about to blurt out an apology. But when he leaned forward on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face, I realized with a start that he was actually gathering his nerve to tell me something.

I waited silently, tentatively, while he sucked in a breath and licked his lips, his eyes staring straight ahead. Finally he spoke, his voice low and remote.

"My mother was . . . a heavy sleeper," he said. "When I was a child, there were times I couldn't wake her, and it scared me. So she told me all I had to do was put a hand on her throat, and if I could feel her pulse I didn't have to be afraid."

I smiled softly. I could tell it had cost him dearly to tell me that little story, and I felt deeply grateful for it. "That's beautiful," I murmured. "Your mother sounds sweet."

His face immediately went stony. "I wouldn't say that," he said icily. He reached forward and started typing at his keyboard, his rigid posture making it clear that the subject was closed.

I wanted to offer him something—comfort, affection . . . anything that might thaw his sudden coldness. I reached out to touch his cheek, but his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

"I take offense to gestures made out of pity," he snapped, his eyes never leaving the screen.

I recoiled from him, pulling my hand out of his grasp. I didn't know whether to be injured or irritated, so I settled on both. I gave him a reproachful look as he focused determinedly on his computer.

"Carlisle, I get that this is hard for you to talk about," I said, not bothering to hide the hurt in my voice, "but I don't deserve that."

His eyebrows pulled together, and he swallowed hard. "No," he said softly. "No, you don't." He sat back and reached for me, and I let him pull me into his lap. His remorseful eyes met mine, and he stroked my cheek gently. "I'm sorry, Bella. You're right, you deserve much better than that."

I had expected an angry response, so his apology threw me a little. I gave him a smile to let him know I appreciated it, and he kissed me gently.

"This is unusual for me," he murmured. "This kind of relationship, this level of intimacy . . . it's not something I've tried to do in a very long time." His hands pulled my head down onto his shoulder and stroked through my hair. "I'm bound to make mistakes, I suppose, but I hope they're ones that you can forgive."

I fiddled idly with the loosened knot of his tie. "Can I ask?" I said hesitantly. "Why did you agree to this relationship if it's not what you usually like?"

He hesitated a moment. "It's not that I _like_ keeping my distance from people," he said quietly. "It's necessary. I can be this way with you because you seem to understand my limitations, and you don't have expectations that I can't meet. You're more accommodating than I have the right to expect."

"So you're only with me because I understand that there's no future?" I asked anxiously.

His fingertips touched my chin, urging my head up, and he met my gaze.

"Not only, Bella," he said gently. "You have a beautiful heart. You're fun and understanding, smart, dedicated, and so very sweet. I'm still trying to figure out why a treasure like you would ever want to waste any time with me."

His reassurances were healing the wounds left by the many carelessly-spoken words that I had heard throughout the day, and I shamelessly fished for more.

"Have you dated students before?"

He shook his head. "No. Honestly, I never considered it, and even if I had, I'd have doubted that I would have much to talk about with a girl your age."

"Dr. Berty dates students," I mused. That, actually, I had known before I had overheard them talking about it today.

"Dr. Berty dates his _own_ students," Carlisle said disapprovingly. "They get together entirely because the girls are desperate to pass his classes, and because he's bored with his marriage. I've never aspired to the kind of relationships Berty prefers."

I laughed, a little relieved to hear it. "He kind of gets under your skin, doesn't he?"

"Lord, you have no idea." His hand slid up to the back of my neck, and he massaged it gently. "Did he give you any problems today?"

I let my eyes slip closed as I leaned back into his hand. "He wasn't bad. He smirked a lot, but that's pretty much it."

"Let me know if he gets out of line, and I'll take care of it."

I nodded, enjoying the neck massage. "Know what?" I said. "I'm going to go get ready for bed, and since you always end up taking my pajamas off anyway, I'm just going to skip them this time. You should feel free to come in and join me whenever you get the urge."

I pushed off of Carlisle's lap and gave him an inviting smile before strolling toward the bathroom.

He stared after me for just a moment, before darting off of the couch and grabbing me around the waist. "Why don't you let me help you out of those clothes," he murmured, leaning down to nibble at my ear.

I giggled as I walked him back toward the bedroom. "Such a gentleman."


	11. They That Mourn

******Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.******

* * *

><p><strong>11. They That Mourn<strong>

"Fuck," I muttered breathlessly.

Carlisle chuckled, and since I was sprawled out on top of him, the movement of his chest jostled me slightly.

"It's hard being that quiet," I puffed, rolling off of him.

He laughed indulgently as he grabbed the box of tissue from the night stand. I took some and cleaned up lazily, in no hurry to get back to the studying that had been interrupted by the maintenance workers who had come to replace the windows that had been broken during the earthquake. Normally it would have annoyed me to have my study time interrupted, but Carlisle had a way of making me see the silver lining.

Carlisle tossed the condom and tissues into the trash beside the bed, and then pulled me against his side. "Sounds like they're done out there," he commented.

I nodded. I could no longer hear voices or banging sounds from the living room. "But that doesn't mean we can't have another go."

Carlisle groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget that I'm a very old man."

"Whatever." I trailed a finger lightly down the contoured muscles of his chest. "How old are you, anyway?"

"I don't remember," he said, his arm still hiding his eyes. "Dementia set in sometime after I turned forty."

I giggled and traced his firm stomach. "And how long ago was that?"

"Three years," he admitted, peeking at me from under his arm. "Does that bother you?"

I laughed at the absurdity of his question. "Carlisle, do you really think I didn't notice that you were older than me?"

He smiled sheepishly and dropped his arm, letting his hand come to rest on mine where it splayed over his stomach.

"How old are you?" he asked curiously.

"I have just over three months until I'm legally allowed to drink at frat parties."

"Mm, you naughty girl," he growled, nipping at my ear. "So with your summer courses, you must be looking at graduating soon."

"Next Spring," I nodded.

"And what are your plans?"

"Well," I said, "I thought I'd move into my father's basement and mooch off of him for the next fifty years or so."

"I imagine he's looking forward to that."

I grinned and pushed myself up, fishing around on the floor for my underwear. "Who knows? Maybe someday I'll grow up to be a writer like you."

"I have no doubt that your writing would be infinitely more interesting than mine," Carlisle smiled. He took his cue from me and pulled on his pants while I slipped into my panties and bra. I was just zipping up my jeans when Jacob's voice rang through the apartment.

"Bella?" he yelled. "Are you decent?"

I glanced at Carlisle, who was picking his shirt up off the floor, and called back. "Yeah, we're in here!"

The door opened and Jacob's head poked in. "Hey, Bell—is that a new bra?"

"Yeah, isn't it cute?" I asked, tugging at the pink ribbons woven through the lace. "Mom sent it for me in her last care package."

Carlisle gave a low growl in the back of his throat and rounded the bed, throwing his shirt around me and buttoning it up.

Jacob smirked. "Sorry, Dr. C. Am I interrupting something?"

Carlisle arched an eyebrow, but I hugged him around the waist and answered for him.

"We just finished. You have excellent timing."

"Oh, yeah?" Jacob smirked. "How was it? Missionary position, I assume?"

"Jacob!" I snapped sharply. "Don't start, or I'm kicking you out and taking your key."

"Psh. Your idle threats don't scare me."

I shooed him out of the bedroom and tugged Carlisle after me, moving us to the living room. "What do you want?" I asked Jacob as I settled down next to Carlisle, leaning back against his chest.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to your fucktoy," he said casually. "I was doing today's reading, and I had a couple of questions."

"Alright," Carlisle said dryly, ignoring Jacob's crass remarks.

"I was reading about the settlement patterns of early sedentary agricultural communities," he said, "and I was wondering if you've ever had anal sex."

"Jacob Black!" I yelled, sitting up straight. He and Rosalie had been sending me text messages speculating about Carlisle's sexuality all week, and I was about out of patience with them.

"What?" he said innocently. "I was just asking."

"Get out."

"Come on, Bella, don't be so uptight—"

"I said get out," I ordered again. "If you're going to be a little piss, you can do it elsewhere."

"Bella," Carlisle whispered softly, pulling me back against him so he could speak into my ear. "Please don't alienate your friends on my account. Jacob will be here for you longer than I will."

My stomach clenched at his words. I knew our days were numbered, but I didn't like to think about him leaving me. I got more attached to him every day we were together. Excepting Monday, I had met him every day for lunch, spent every night with him in my bed, and had generally existed in a haze of passionate euphoria. He was my perfect drug, and I was high as a kite. I didn't want to think about the impending crash.

Jacob had made no move to leave, and I gave him a warning look. "Don't," I said. "Please."

"It's just a question, Bella," Jacob said, rolling his eyes.

"And it's none of your business," Carlisle answered simply. "Now I suggest you respect Bella's wishes and drop the subject."

"Okay," he smirked. "I'll take that as a yes. Listen, Bella, Emily wants to know if you want a plus-one for the wedding."

I gave him a dirty look. The wedding was six months away, and he wanted me to plan that far ahead with a man who was half out the door before we even got started? Plus, Charlie was going to be there. If Carlisle and I _were_ still together, would I—would _he_—really want to do the whole meet-the-parent thing?"

But at the same time, I didn't want to offend Carlisle by assuming we wouldn't be together, or by making him think I didn't want to be seen with him.

I wanted to punch Jacob.

"Will they make me sit at the kids' table if I come alone?" I asked reproachfully.

Jacob smirked at my desperate attempt to deflect this away from Carlisle. "Maybe."

"Then yes, I want a plus-one," I said tersely. I was seriously getting angry with him over his little games.

"And do you want a seat at the straight table?" he asked. He grinned. "Or one of the round ones."

A lump welled up in my throat, and I had to fight back the tears. He was still pushing, after I had asked him to stop, and it hurt.

"I want you to leave now," I said softly.

Jacob looked surprised. "Are you serious?"

I nodded, looking down. I couldn't meet his eyes right now, or I would start crying."

"Jeez, Bella, I'm sorry—"

"I don't want to hear it," I said evenly. "I just want you to go."

Jacob was silent for a moment, but eventually he stood up. "Fine."

I refused to look at him as he walked out the door, and the first tear fell as soon as it closed behind him.

Carlisle didn't miss it. He pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me. "What was that all about?" he asked gently.

I sniffed as I laid my head on his shoulder. "He's been giving me a hard time about the thing with Rosalie," I lied, hoping that would explain away his insinuations.

"Are you embarrassed about it?" he asked curiously.

I shook my head.

"Then why let him make you feel bad?"

I rubbed my hand absently over his chest, drawing strength from his solid frame. "I know. I shouldn't."

He sat with me silently for a few minutes, but eventually he shifted and eased me off of his lap. "I should be going," he said.

I stared at him, not quite understanding. Going? It was Friday night, and I had been looking forward to waking up with him in the morning.

"You're not staying?"

"No," he said. He offered no explanation, just stood and started gathering his things.

"Okay . . . um . . . will I see you tomorrow?"

"No." He came over and started unbuttoning my shirt, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I'm going to need this back," he said with a small smile.

I surrendered his shirt to him and he pulled it on, buttoning it up as he headed to the bedroom to retrieve his shoes. He was back again in a minute, fully dressed and ready to leave.

I watched him, bewildered, as he hitched his bag up onto his shoulder and gave me a quick kiss. He strode to the door and stepped out, locking it behind him.

Because, yes, I had decided to give him a key. I had opened up and let him in, despite the million little things that reminded me what a huge mistake I was making getting so hung up on him. I didn't care. I _wanted_ to be hung up on him.

Only . . . right now it kind of sucked.

Carlisle was gone, and I had no idea why. And Jacob was gone because I had thrown him out, and I was still pissed enough that I wasn't going to call him and spill my guts over what had just happened.

Or hadn't happened.

I was very confused.

So I spent the night alone. I made dinner and didn't eat it. I put on a movie and didn't watch it. I stared at the wall and didn't see it.

All I could think about was Carlisle. And Jacob. But mostly Carlisle. I couldn't understand why he had just walked out like that, with no explanation. Was this another of those mistakes he made because he wasn't used to being in a relationship? Maybe he wasn't accustomed to having to account for his whereabouts.

And actually, why _should_ he have to account for his whereabouts? It wasn't like I had any real claim on him. We spent a lot of time together and we fucked like jackrabbits, but did that give me the right to know where he was when he wasn't with me?

And Jacob. What the hell was his problem? Was he trying to break us up? If he had an issue with me dating Carlisle, why didn't he just come out and say it?

I went to bed, and I felt small. I couldn't fill it on my own, and the empty space beside me only served as a reminder that I was alone. I woke up and felt chilled. There was no arm thrown over me, no hand curled around my throat. It was five o'clock in the morning, and I was awake because this was when Carlisle got up every day. Just over a week with him, and already I was falling into his patterns, adopting his schedule.

But he wasn't here.

I knew would feel better if I could talk to Jacob, but I wasn't done being mad at him. I had a stubborn streak that perfectly complemented my penchant for petulance, so rather than calling him to straighten things out, I chose to sit and sulk.

Which was a bad idea, because that meant I was free to think more about Carlisle.

I wanted to call him. Was that pathetic? Not like I didn't know the answer to that question, but on a scale of one to ten, exactly _how_ pathetic was it?

I had a pretty good idea of the answer to that question, too.

Was a text message less pathetic? It was, right? At least a little bit? I mean, he did make it clear that he didn't want to see me, but that didn't mean a tiny little unintrusive text would be unwelcome, did it?

_Ugh. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic._

I picked up my phone and stared at it. I wasn't going to send a text message. I wasn't. But it wouldn't hurt if I just thought about what I _might_ send . . . if, you know, I hadn't already decided not to send one. Maybe I would just compose a little message that I would send to him sometime in the future. That couldn't hurt. . . .

I stared at my phone for a good ten minutes before I even noticed the date in the corner.

June 11, 2011.

June 11.

_Fuck._

I felt like I should have known. Was that why Carlisle hadn't said anything? Had he expected me to acknowledge the date, and been disappointed when I hadn't? I mean, some dates you just weren't supposed to forget, right? Birthdays, anniversaries, the date tattooed on your boyfriend's wrist. . . .

_Shit._

So, now, what was I supposed to do about it? Something told me it wasn't a gift-giving sort of occasion. In fact, I had a feeling that Carlisle was having a very bad day.

I didn't know how to talk to him, so I resorted to the trick that had always worked for me whenever I hadn't known how to talk to Charlie. I cooked.

I settled on homemade ravioli, because it was time-consuming and I needed a distraction. I simmered sauce, I grated cheese, I pressed pasta, and I thought of him. I thought of pale blond hair streaked with gold, of soft blue eyes that warmed when they smiled at me, of the dimple in his cheek that made my stomach flutter. I thought of ice cream in the park, and the sadness on his face on the rare occasions when he opened up to me. I thought of the hour every morning that he spent trying to suss out what was happening on a news report from half way around the world, broadcast in a language he didn't quite speak, as he worried about the welfare of someone he never talked about.

I wondered what kind of anniversary this was. He had implied that it wasn't necessarily a bad day. _I suppose that depends on who you ask_, he had said. Who benefited when Carlisle had decided to take his life in a new direction? And _why_ did he decide to, if he wasn't the one reaping the benefits?

I finished the ravioli too early, and I paced. I couldn't feel right because I knew that Carlisle wasn't feeling right. I was pretty sure that he wouldn't want to see me, but I just didn't care. _I_ needed to see _him_.

When the sun dipped beneath the horizon, I covered the ravioli and drove to Carlisle's. The house was dark when I drove up, except for one window at the back. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which room had the lights on. I still burned with curiosity over what was hidden behind that locked door, but that wasn't why I was here tonight. I jogged up to the front porch and knocked firmly.

It took a little while, but eventually the door was pulled open. Carlisle stood behind it, looking exhausted. His glasses didn't distract me from the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, or the stubble that dusted his jaw. His eyes looked guarded, and everything about his stance told me that I wasn't welcome. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.

"I know you don't want to see me today," I said, "and I'm not going to ask you to let me stay. But I needed to know that you were alright." I held up the baking dish in my hands. "I brought you dinner."

I pushed past him into the house and headed straight for the kitchen. He hadn't turned any lights on, but there was enough dusky light seeping through the windows to see by. I turned on the oven and popped the lid off of the ravioli, then put it in to bake and set the timer.

Carlisle had followed me in, and was watching me wordlessly.

"Just take it out when the timer goes off," I told him. "No skill required."

He still didn't say anything, but at least I knew he was alive and breathing. "Call me when you can," I added softly.

I started toward the door, but stopped when I felt Carlisle's fingers brush my elbow. I turned back to him, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me carefully, as though too firm a touch would shatter me.

"Don't go," he whispered.

No words had ever been so welcome. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. "Whatever you want."

He drew back and pulled me to the living room, collapsing on the couch. I sat beside him, and he shifted down and lay in my lap, staring dully at the ceiling. I ran my fingers lightly through his hair, pleased to feel a little of the tension ease from his muscles.

"I'm tired, Bella," he said, his voice sounding hoarse.

I didn't know how to answer so I stayed silent, hoping it would help if I just listened. I eased his glasses off of his face and set them aside, running my thumb lightly over his eyebrow.

"I've tried so hard," he said, his eyes slipping closed. "I've given up so much." He swallowed hard and his eyebrows pulled together, his face pinched in pain. "But it's not enough. It's never enough."

I didn't want to question him tonight. I was actually feeling pretty lucky that he hadn't thrown me out on my ass, so I wasn't about to press my luck. I just held my peace and tried to offer what comfort I could through touch. I scraped my nails lightly over his scalp and down the sides of his neck, eliciting a soft moan from him.

He was silent for a long time, and I was starting to wonder if he was drifting off to sleep when he spoke again. "I shouldn't be with you," he said emotionlessly.

I tried to swallow the hurt of his words and not let it show in my voice. "Why not?"

His eyes fluttered open, and his hand came up to stroke my cheek. "It's not your fault, Bella," he said softly. "If I were anything but what I am, I would never let you go."

"What are you?" I whispered, praying my question wouldn't push him away.

"I am . . ." he said softly, "unworthy."

"Why?"

He caught my hand and pressed it to his heart. "I destroy beautiful things," he said. "But I'm selfish, Bella. So very, very selfish. I should let you go, but I don't want to."

"I haven't asked you to," I reminded him.

Silence fell over us again for a few minutes, before the oven timer buzzed and demanded attention. I took the ravioli out and dished some onto a plate, bringing it back to Carlisle. He sat up and accepted the plate from me, but just stared in front of him, looking lifeless.

"Please eat something," I murmured.

He nodded, but made no move to lift his fork.

"Carlisle, please." I picked up his fork and speared a morsel, raising it to his lips. I had fed him a million times, but always during lighter, sweeter moments, and I couldn't help but notice the contrast. Carlisle accepted the bite as though he wasn't even aware of it. He chewed slowly, disinterestedly, a far cry from the man I knew who practically made eating into a game.

He swallowed thickly, and I started to feed him another bite, but he blinked and focused on me, pushing it away. He shoved his plate on the coffee table and grabbed me, pushing me down onto the couch and kissing me with an unexpected passion.

"Don't leave me, Bella," he gasped, his mouth making its way down my neck. "Please, not yet. I'm not ready."

"I'm not leaving," I assured him.

His arms wrapped tightly around me, and his fingertips dug into my skin. "I don't deserve you," he said as he buried his face in my hair. "I have nothing left, nothing to give you, but please . . . just let me have a little longer."

"Carlisle, I'm not going anywhere." I pushed him gently off of me, scooting us both into a sitting position, and I wrapped my arms around him. "I _want_ to be with you. I'm not asking for anything from you, and I'm not trying to make you feel like you owe me anything. I just want to be with you."

He leaned into my shoulder, his hands still clutching at me, his breathing ragged and uneven.

"Here," I said, wriggling out of his grasp. "Lie down on your stomach."

I expected to have to coax him into it, but he complied easily, shifting down onto the couch. I knelt on the floor beside him and rubbed his back and shoulders, trying to loosen the knotted muscles. When he had relaxed a little, I started slipping him bites of ravioli, which he accepted without complaint.

I fed him from his plate until the ravioli was gone, and then I just sat with him, my hands moving gently over his back, comforting him the only way I knew how. After a long time, he rolled onto his side and pulled me up onto the couch with him, wrapping me in his arms.

"Why did you come?"

I let my fingers trace over the back of his shoulder. "I realized what day it was," I said tentatively. "I didn't want you to be alone."

"I'm always alone," he whispered.

I wasn't sure what that meant. Maybe he was telling me that my presence here meant nothing, or if maybe he was saying I didn't understand what he was going through. If that was the case, he was right. I didn't understand. I just knew that he was hurting, and the way he was holding me told me that he wanted me near him, so I stayed.

That was the last time he spoke to me that evening. We sat together for hours, holding one another, touching and kissing, but saying nothing. Finally, when the clock reached midnight, Carlisle stood and held out his hand to me. I took it, and he drew me wordlessly to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. He didn't bother removing the jeans and T-shirt he wore, just crawled under the blankets and reached for me.

I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed beside him, letting him wrap me tightly in his arms. I settled in quickly, and I was drifting off to sleep when I heard his whisper again.

"O my God and my All," he breathed softly, "In Thy goodness and mercy, grant that before I die I may regain all the graces which I have lost through my carelessness and folly.

"Permit me to attain the degree of merit and perfection to which Thou didst desire to lead me, and which I failed by my unfaithfulness to reach.

"Mercifully grant also that others regain the graces which they have lost through my fault. This I humbly beg through the merits of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Immaculate Virgin Mary. Amen."

My drowsy brain was trying to be surprised by Carlisle's devotions. It was trying to conjure up some conversation in which he had told me he wasn't a religious man. But the fog of sleep was too thick, and in the end I gave in and succumbed to the welcome unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Carlisle surprised me the next morning by getting up to his five o'clock alarm, as usual. I had somehow thought today might be an exception, but when his phone chimed, he rolled wordlessly out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He gave me a quick kiss and then headed out the door for his run.<p>

I wanted to wrap up in the sheet and go back to sleep, but I couldn't. Now that I was awake, my mind refused to be quieted. I was concerned about Carlisle, worried that he wasn't handling things as well as he wanted everyone to think he was. Whatever battle he was fighting had been going on a long time, and it looked like he was starting to get worn down.

I tossed and turned until he got back from his run, then pulled myself out of bed as he climbed into the shower. I wanted to join him, but I wasn't sure where his head was, so I padded to the kitchen and made myself useful instead. I threw out the leftover ravioli and washed the pan, then set a pot of coffee on to brew.

I heard the shower turn off, and a few minutes later Carlisle emerged from the bedroom wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his hair damp and tousled. I poured two cups of coffee and handed one to him as he moved into the kitchen.

"Thank you, Bella," he smiled, accepting the mug and giving me a warm kiss. He set his mug on the table and retrieved his laptop, opening it up in front of him as he settled into a chair.

Just like every other morning.

I watched him, a little bit confused. Was he not even going to acknowledge the previous day?

He loaded up his webpage and directed his browser to the Portuguese newscast, and I realized that no, he wasn't.

"Are you okay?" I asked tentatively.

"I'm well, thank you." He glanced up at me with raised eyebrows. "And you? Did you sleep all right?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, just staring at him. "Carlisle, yesterday—"

He put up a finger to cut me off and stood, stepping close to me. He leaned down and gave me a sweet, tender kiss, brushing his thumb across my cheek.

"Yesterday is over," he said softly. "I have no desire to relive it."

It seemed strange to me that he didn't even want to talk about it, but how could I argue? I just nodded, accepting this as one more of his many quirks, and tried to let it go.

He smiled at me and took his seat again, his attention returning to his computer. "The theater department is putting on a production of _A Woman of No Importance_ next weekend," he said off-handedly. "Would you like to see it with me?"

"Um, yeah," I stammered, surprised. Apart from meeting for lunch, if that counted, Carlisle and I had never really made plans to go out together. "That sounds good. I love Oscar Wilde."

"Me too," he said with a smile, then started his broadcast and ended our conversation.

* * *

><p>Thanks to NixHaw for the anthropology speak, and to catholictradition(dot)org for the text of the prayer.<p> 


	12. With Child

******Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.******

* * *

><p><strong>12. With Child<strong>

It was after dark when I marched up the walk in front of Jacob's house and pounded on the door. Emily answered it, and she let out a sigh of relief when she saw me.

"Thank _g__od_," she said, ushering me in. "It's about time you two made up. He's been stomping around the house in a temper for two days." She gestured toward Jacob's room.

I was in a pretty good temper myself. I stalked to his door and pushed through it without knocking, slamming it behind me.

Jacob was sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. A textbook lay open beside him, but it didn't seem to be getting any of his attention at the moment.

"What the hell is your problem?" I demanded.

He sat up and glared at me. "_My_ problem? What's _your_ problem? You're the one who told me to get out."

"Because you were being an asshole!" I yelled at him. "What did you think you were accomplishing, coming over and making obnoxious insinuations about Carlisle?"

"What do you care?" he grumbled. "I give _you_ shit all the time. You can take it, but _he_ can't?"

"You two don't have the same kind of relationship that you and I have!"

"Oh, really?" he snapped. "And what kind of relationship _do_ we have, Bella?"

His question stung, and I fell back a step. "What do you mean?" I asked. "You're my best friend."

"No, I _used_ to be your best friend," he said sullenly. "Now I'm that guy you go to when you want to whine about something."

I stared at him, disturbed by my inability to deny the truth of his words. Since I had broken up with Mike—and actually, if I were being honest, since I had started dating Mike—I had only gone to Jacob when I needed help or an emotional outlet. He had always been there for me, but it wasn't fair that all I gave him was negativity.

Not that he hadn't brought his problems to me, too. He had showed up when Rachel and Paul were aggravating him, but he had also dropped by on Friday night for no other reason than to hang out.

Of course, he had been in a mood and had picked a fight right away. . . .

_Oh, shit._

He hadn't come over just to hang out. He had been upset. He needed me, and I had told him to get out.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Jacob muttered, flopping back down onto the mattress.

I moved to the bed and sat beside him. "You're right, I've been a crap friend, and I'll do better. Let's start having lunch together when our schedules match. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Deal?"

He poked his lip out petulantly. "Will you bring Rosalie?"

"I'll invite her," I smirked. "It's up to her whether she wants to put up with _your_ pervy ass."

Jacob surrendered a smile, and I relaxed a little.

"So what happened?" I asked again.

His smile disappeared and he reached out and grabbed my hand. "Rachel's pregnant."

My jaw dropped. "Holy shit! Is it Paul's?"

He shook his head. "She's like three months along. But Billy went ballistic and threatened to throw her out, so she showed up here asking if she could move in with us."

"Here?" I asked. "It's only a three-bedroom. Where's she going to sleep, the couch?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Bella?"

It took a moment for his implication to set in, but when it did my eyes practically popped out of my head. "You mean she's moving in with _Paul?_ Isn't that a little . . . I mean, they screwed around a few times but that doesn't mean it's a good idea to move in together."

Jacob snorted. "Hey, Pot, meet Kettle."

"It's not the same with Carlisle and me," I said defensively. "We may be together all the time, but we still have separate places. When we break up, we'll both have somewhere to go."

Jacob just shrugged. "So they're being stupid. What are you gonna do?"

"What about my apartment?" I suggested. "I still have a free room."

"I suggested that," he admitted. "Rachel didn't think she could afford it. Compton's cheaper."

"You're going to be crashing at my place a lot, aren't you?" I asked dryly.

"That," he agreed, "or I'll have to have my room soundproofed."

I stretched out beside him on the bed. "That'd be good, actually. You always seem to end up with screamers."

"I'm just _that_ good," he joked, but it was only half-hearted. He was still upset.

"So I guess she's keeping it," I said unnecessarily.

He nodded.

"What about the father? Is he going to help out?"

"Dunno," Jacob said. "Rachel won't say who he is. I get the feeling he doesn't want her to have it."

"God," I breathed. "Poor Rachel. This must be rough on her."

Jacob was silent for a moment, his hand squeezing mine. "She's going to need help."

"So we'll help," I said. "With her living here, you and I can drive her to doctor appointments, make sure she's taking vitamins . . . all that stuff."

"She'll have to move to a new place when the baby's born."

I rolled onto my side and hugged him around the waist. "We'll figure it out when we get there."

Jacob wrapped me in his arms and clung to me. "Thanks for coming over," he whispered.

"Like I could stay away." I poked him in the ribs. "Of course, this whole fight could have been avoided if you had just told me all of this on Friday rather than being a little shit-stain."

"Cullen was there," he said. "I didn't figure I'd get much sympathy from him, you know?"

"You're probably right." I hadn't told Jacob everything about Carlisle's hang-ups, but I had mentioned that family and kids were a hard limit for him, mostly by way of explaining why our relationship couldn't be more than temporary.

"So where is he today?" Jacob asked.

"My place."

"You actually left him voluntarily?"

"Yes," I said, smacking his chest. "Because I needed to make things right with my best friend, even if he is a pushy little prick."

"Hey," he said, sounding wounded, "whose prick are you calling little?"

I giggled and hugged him tighter.

I heard the front door close, and Jacob raised his head. "That's probably Rach," he said. "She went out looking for a doctor earlier."

"I'm going to say hi." I crawled off the bed, and Jacob followed me out into the living room. Paul and Rachel were both kicking off their shoes, and I moved forward awkwardly, not sure whether to offer my congratulations or sympathy. I didn't have any idea, so I decided to just be excited to see her.

"Rachel!" I gushed. "I haven't seen you in forever! What's going on? How are you?"

She smiled tiredly and met me halfway, giving me a hug. "Hey, Bella. I'm fine."

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Those were actual questions, not just pleasantries." I pulled her to the couch and tugged her down onto it with me. "Tell me what's happening."

She smiled wanly. "I'm pregnant. What else do you need to know?"

"Everything," I said. "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Not yet." She wrung her hands in her lap. "I won't know that for another month or two."

"Have you thought about names at all?"

She shook her head, looking morose.

"Rach." I reached out and pried her hands apart, taking them in mine. "Are you sure this is what you want? I mean, if you're not at least a little excited about this baby, there are other options."

"No, I am," she said quickly, her eyes welling up. "I'm just a little stressed right now, you know? But I do _really_ want to keep it."

I smiled, but Rachel didn't.

"I mean, where am I going to live?" she asked. "How am I going to pay rent if I don't have a job, and who's going to hire me if they know I'll just be leaving to have a baby?"

"Hey," Paul said, coming to the couch and nudging me out of the way. "Why don't you lie down for a little while and rest, huh?"

I stood up, giving them room, and Paul eased Rachel down on the couch.

"You don't have to worry so much, baby. You and I are in this together, remember? I'm looking out for you." Paul lifted Rachel's shirt, exposing the slight rounding of her stomach, and brushed his hand lightly over her skin. "Just relax, okay?"

"This is all wrong," Rachel said, starting to cry. "I was supposed to be graduated, to be _married!_ And he wasn't supposed—" She broke off, crying harder.

"So you haven't graduated," Paul said soothingly. "So what? You'll go back to school in a year or two, maybe, when the baby's a little older." He grabbed a bottle of what looked like lotion off of the end table and poured some into his hand. "This isn't wrong, it's just in a different order than you thought it would be."

Rachel wiped at her eyes. "What are people going to say, though?"

"Who cares?" he said, rubbing the lotion onto Rachel's stomach. "You don't have to live somebody else's ideal. This is your life and your baby, and what matters is that you love it and take care of it, not that you fit in with some bullshit nuclear family image."

"My dad's so mad," she sniffed.

"He'll get over it," Jacob spoke up. "Give him time to grouse for a while, and then he'll come around."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, of course," Jacob said. "He just over-reacted. You know how he is."

"You're going to be just fine," Paul soothed. "And so are you." He directed his words to her stomach, smiling as he massaged the tiny bump. "Now, you might have to grow a thick skin. It's possible that some of the assholes out there will hear about where you come from, and will say some mean things." He drizzled on some more lotion and started rubbing again. "For instance, somebody might try to tell you that the Mariners suck."

Rachel giggled through her tears.

Paul shook his head in frustration. "Or that the Seahawks are a disgrace to the NFL," he added.

She laughed again.

"But don't you let them get you down," Paul went on, still speaking solemnly to Rachel's stomach. "That's called trash-talk, and there are a couple of ways you can respond. One option, of course, is to ignore it. That's basically agreeing with them, and it makes you look like a pussy, so I don't recommend it."

Rachel's laugh rang out again, and Paul grinned at her before continuing.

"Me, I say you go with the personal attack. You insult their clothes or hair, or there's a shitload of yo' mama jokes you can tap into."

I backed away from Paul, stopping when I reached Jacob's side.

"He _looks_ like Paul," I mused. "And he _sounds_ like Paul . . . but I have a hard time believing that's the same guy who used to climb trees and spit on anybody who walked underneath."

Jacob snickered.

Paul shot me a narrow look before tickling Rachel lightly and kissing her stomach again. "We need to start getting stuff," he told her. "Cribs and car seats and shit."

"How am I going to do that?" Rachel asked starting to get upset again. "I don't have enough money for everything."

"We've got a little," Paul said encouragingly. "We've both been working this summer, so we can use what we've been saving for tuition."

I grabbed Jacob's elbow and pulled him back to his room, giving the two of them privacy. I moved to sit on Jacob's bed and stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Holy crap."

He nodded, looking a little dazed. "I know," he said. "Who would have thought that _Paul_ would be the guy to step up?"

"Seriously." I shook my head in bewilderment. "But he's really going to, Jacob. Crazy or not, I think that's the real deal."

Jacob groaned and slouched over to the bed, dropping down beside me. "That douche is going to be my fucking brother-in-law, isn't he?" he complained. "God _damn_ it! I can't win!"

I laughed and bumped my shoulder against his. Jacob wasn't fooling me. I knew he was relieved to know that his sister had someone looking out for her. "Family reunions are going to be _awesome_."

"You'd better watch it," Jacob threatened, "or I'll marry you just so you have to come to them with me."

I grinned. "I would be the world's coolest aunt, you know. I'd be sneaking that kid candy _all the time_."

"You will be anyway, official aunt or not."

I smiled, but in the back of my mind I was wondering how much my future would include Jacob and Rachel. Would Rachel and Paul move back to La Push to be near family members who would help them? Would Jacob? I had always liked the idea of staying in California—after all, I had dragged Charlie here every summer when I was growing up—but if I got a job offer somewhere else, that was where I would go. I assumed the same would be true for Jacob. There were so many decisions that had yet to be made, and when I thought about them, I started feeling very small.

"Promise me you'll always be my best friend," I said quietly. "No matter what. Even if we end up on opposite sides of the world, and never see each other, promise me you won't forget me."

"Where's this coming from?" he asked me curiously.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I mean . . . who knows what's going to happen after we graduate. We could end up really far apart and lose touch."

"Lose touch?" he said skeptically. "What, like Skype suddenly ceases to exist? Not likely."

I smiled, comforted by his reassurance. "Just don't forget to use it."

"I won't forget you, Bella," he promised. "And I'm not letting you forget me, either. Quit being such a little worrywart."

I tucked myself against his side and hugged him tightly. "Okay," I agreed.

It was good to have my best friend back.

* * *

><p>I hung out with Jacob for another hour or so, before I headed home. Carlisle was sitting in the living room when I got there, and I took a moment to admire the picture of him kicked back on the couch in jeans and a T-shirt, one foot braced against the coffee table as he read the newspaper balanced on his knee.<p>

He was wearing his glasses.

He glanced curiously up at me. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Very well." I moved to stand in front of him and took the newspaper from him before straddling his legs and settling down onto his lap. "Jacob has forgiven me."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as his hands gripped my hips. "I thought _you_ were mad at _him_."

"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "Turns out, I may not have been quite the friend that I should have been."

His hands slipped above the waistband of my shorts and beneath the hem of my tank top. "Haven't you?"

"Nope." I leaned in and kissed him. "He was mad at me for not spending enough time with him. So I promised him lunch three times a week, and I'll probably hang out with him after classes every now and then." My voice was confident, but I was a little nervous about how my news would be received. The time I wanted to spend with Jacob was time I was taking away from Carlisle, and I didn't want it to turn into a competition.

To my relief, he just smiled. "I think that's wise," he said. "I'm glad you've found a solution." His hands slid further up my sides and his thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts, making me moan.

"I like that," I breathed.

"Really?" he asked, his lips brushing over mine. "If you enjoy that, I know of a few other things that you might appreciate."

"You should show me."

He caught my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled it gently. "Why don't we move this into the bedroom?"

"Why don't we keep it right here?"

He kissed me deeply, his hands working my shirt up, and he released my lips to pull it up over my head. "The condoms are in the bedroom," he reminded me.

I kissed him again, wriggling back off of his lap as our tongues tangled together. I released his mouth reluctantly, but splayed my hand over his chest and pushed him back against the couch when he started to follow me.

"You stay here," I ordered. "I'll be right back."

He smiled after me as I headed back to the bedroom, but I stopped in the doorway to the hall and looked back at him.

"Oh, and Carlisle?" I said, smiling seductively. "Keep your glasses on."


	13. Kick Against the Pricks

********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.********

* * *

><p><strong>13. Kick Against the Pricks<strong>

The next week went by fairly comfortably. Jacob and Rosalie got along _way_ too well during our lunches, and Carlisle was never bothered when I disappeared to hang out with Jacob. Carlisle and I spent most of our time at my place, since it was closer to the school than his, and we both got used to the fact that sometimes he was there without me. I was perfectly comfortable with it. If it meant he was waiting for me when I got home, he could spend as much time at my apartment as he wanted.

It did make me wonder, however, if _he_ ever had any social obligations. Carlisle didn't go out with friends, and outside of his students and his books he didn't seem to have a lot of demands on his time. I asked him a couple of times if he wanted to join Jacob and me, but he just smiled casually and declined.

I didn't really give Carlisle's social life all that much consideration, though, because a lot of my attention was focused on Rachel. Paul's optimism had started to rub off on her, and she was getting excited about furnishing a nursery for the baby. I spent more than one afternoon scanning Craig's List with her, looking for decent second-hand furniture that wouldn't be too hard on her bank account.

All in all, things were looking up. So I was feeling pretty good after my Stylistics class on Friday, when Dr. Berty did his damndest to sour my mood. The bell had just signaled the end of class, and I was gathering my things when he spoke from the front of the room.

"Miss Swan, would you mind staying after class for a moment?"

"Sure," I said uncertainly, zipping up my bag. I had never been his biggest fan, but since the conversation I had overheard between him and Carlisle, I was that much happier that he wasn't particularly personable with most of his students.

He seemed to think having a mutual friend made us pals, though, because when the room cleared, he beckoned me forward and placed a paternal hand on my shoulder.

"I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay," he said, his thumb stroking my collarbone.

"Um . . . yeah, everything's great." I tried to shift away from him a little bit, but he just stepped closer, keeping his hand on my shoulder.

He gave me a sympathetic look. "If you need to, you can take a little bit of extra time with the textual analysis that's due on Monday."

"Why would I need extra time?"

"Most of your classmates spent last weekend working on it," he said, as though that were somehow an explanation. I still didn't understand.

"Yeah?"

He chuckled softly and patted my shoulder. "Miss Swan, I've been working with Cullen for nearly twenty years. I know how he gets on the eleventh of June."

I just stared at him. Part of me was furious at him for . . . well, for _knowing_ about it, first of all. I had an unreasonable desire to be the only one who knew something so intimate—or something I had _thought_ was intimate—about Carlisle. But more than that, I was angry with him for talking about it, for bringing it up and laughing like it was some silly little quirk, a matter of no consequence.

Another part of me, though, wanted to know what he knew. Had he earned enough of Carlisle's confidence over the years that he would have information that I didn't?

"Yeah, why does he get like that?" I asked, licking my lips nervously.

"Oh, who knows?" Dr. Berty said, removing his hand from my shoulder long enough to give a dismissive wave. "The point is, I know you spent the weekend with him, and I know that he probably didn't make it easy on you." He patted my cheek this time, and his fingers trailed casually down my neck. "So if you need a little more time, I won't mark you down for turning your paper in late."

"Um . . . thanks," I said, edging back again. "I think I'll be able to get it in on time." It was already done, and I didn't like that he was offering me special favors, but I figured it was probably a bad idea to call him out over it. The last thing I needed to do was piss him off.

I hitched my bag up on my shoulder, but he caught my elbow as I turned away and drew me back again. "Listen, Bella, I feel like I should tell you something about Cullen."

I didn't miss the transition from "Miss Swan" to "Bella," and I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Okay."

"Relationships with him don't last very long," he said in what I assumed was supposed to be a gentle voice. He came off sort of unctuous and patronizing, though I doubted that was his intention.

"So I've heard."

He seemed surprised by my answer. "Ah. Well. As long as you're not getting your heart set on something more serious. . . ."

"My heart and I know the score," I assured him, making a concentrated effort not to sound flippant. I was all too aware that the grade I needed to maintain my scholarship rested in his inappropriately affectionate hands, and I didn't want to risk it.

He cupped my chin in his hand and smiled down at me. "You just let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," I said, stepping away from him yet again. "I'll keep that in mind. I . . . really appreciate it." I turned and fled from the room before he could stop me again.

I was more disturbed by the conversation with Dr. Berty than I would have expected. After all, he hadn't really done anything that could be considered offensive. Shoulder squeezes and cheek pats . . . that was just sweet old man stuff, right?

But the churning in my stomach was telling me that it was more than that. Emotions battled inside of me: aggravation that he had had the nerve to be so presumptuous, guilt that I had allowed it without saying anything, anxiety over my grade and what would happen to it if I _did_ say something, and worry that today wouldn't be the last time I would find myself in this position.

And, oh yeah, culpability. Because Dr. Berty only assumed I was up for a little professor-student fling because I was having one with Carlisle. I wanted to believe that my relationship with Carlisle was our business, that it didn't need to have repercussions beyond the two of us, but I was starting to realize that things might not be quite so simple. I had never given much thought to my reputation before, but now I had to wonder if I was setting myself up for a bigger fall than I had originally imagined.

I did my best to shake off my anxiety and headed for Carlisle's office. I poked my head in the door, spotting Diego grading papers at his desk.

"Hey, Bella," he greeted me, and then frowned. "Cullen just took off. Was he supposed to meet you?"

"No, I just wanted to talk to him for a few minutes. Did he say how long he would be?"

Diego glanced at a clock on the wall. "Twenty minutes, maybe? He just ran to the Administration building to pick up some paperwork."

"I'll wait for him," I said, dropping my book bag on the floor in front of Carlisle's desk. "I should have brought something to read."

He grinned and gestured expansively to a high shelf that ran along one wall of the room. "Let me show you to the Cullen private collection, encompassing a vast array of subjects, from archaeology to anthropology to religious studies."

"Mmm, fascinating," I said dryly. "I don't suppose there's any Bronte in there?"

Diego snorted. "The romance novels of classic literature? Do you really think Cullen's the type?"

I laughed self-consciously as I started scanning the shelves, looking for something that seemed remotely interesting. All of the books stuck to the three basic themes, and none of them called to me.

I was considering settling for a text on Mayan worship rituals when a handful of books at one end of the shelf caught my eye. They looked just like all of the others, but they had something special that sparked my interest—Carlisle's name printed on the binding. I was suddenly eager to help myself to his collection, and I stretched up and plucked out a book titled _The Dichotomy of Faith_.

"That's a good one," Diego said approvingly. "Of course, they're all good."

"You've read his books?" I asked, studying the cover.

"Yeah." He leaned over his grading again. "Cullen's a lot more interesting than any of the other professors in the department."

"He always says he's boring," I said, smiling to myself.

"We always tell him he's boring, too." Diego laughed. "He knows, though. Half of the anthropology students at USC chose that major because of him."

I warmed under Diego's admiration as much as I would have had I been the recipient of his praise. "I wonder if he'd let me sit in on one of his classes."

"You'd distract him," he teased with a wink. "I mean, look, you just got here and you're already distracting me."

"We can't have that," I smiled back. "I'll just sit quietly and read my book."

Diego grinned at me and went back to his grading.

The book was surprisingly engaging, despite being about a subject I wasn't particularly interested in. I thoroughly lost myself in it, so I was startled when a pair of warm hands slid down my shoulders. One came to rest at the base of my throat while the other arm wrapped around me, and a soft kiss was pressed behind my ear.

"Surely you're not so desperate for reading material that you've resorted to _that_," Carlisle's honeyed voice murmured in my ear.

I smiled as goose bumps prickled down my neck. "I heard a rumor about you," I told him. "Word on the street is that you're not as boring as you claim to be."

"Vicious lies," he laughed, kissing my neck again.

"Seriously?" Diego complained. "You know I'm sitting right here, don't you?"

"You're fired," Carlisle said, not bothering to pull back. "Go away."

Diego just snorted. "Fine, but that means you have to do your own grading."

"Never mind, get back to work." Carlisle gave me a squeeze and straightened, moving around to sit in the chair next to me. "I have to spend some time in the library tonight," he told me. "Care to join me?"

"Actually, I came by to let you know that I'm going out tonight. Jacob's sister just moved to town, and I'm going shopping with her."

"Shall I bring over a late dinner?" he suggested.

I smiled and nodded. "That sounds good."

He leaned in to kiss me, his tongue tangling with mine as his fingers coiled in my hair.

Diego groaned. "Get a room."

Carlisle broke away long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "This is _my_ office," he reminded him, and then went right on kissing me again as I grinned against his lips. He tortured Diego for a couple of moments more, and then broke away and winked at me. "When are you leaving to meet Jacob's sister?"

"I should probably go now," I told him. "She'll be waiting for me."

He stood with me and waited while I put his book back, then held my hand as he walked with me to the door. "Have a good time."

I nodded and hesitated, wondering if I should tell him about Dr. Berty. Carlisle gave me a curious look.

"I kind of need to talk to you about something," I told him hesitantly.

"Is everything all right?"

"It's fine. Or anyway, it's not that bad. This isn't really the time or the place, but when we get home tonight, I'd like a few minutes. I just want to get your perspective on something."

"Of course," he said warmly. "You never need to ask."

I smiled and stretched up for one more kiss. "I'll see you tonight."

I headed to my truck and drove down to Compton, picking up Rachel and heading into town. We spent hours shopping together, searching for bargains and cooing over the adorable baby items that lined the shelves. We carefully compared prices, making sure we were getting the best deals as we bought diapers, bottles, blankets, and a million other things that she would need.

But we didn't only talk about baby things. In fact, in the midst of the gushing over the merchandise, much of our conversation turned to the local Forks gossip.

"You know your dad and Sue Clearwater are dating, don't you?" Rachel asked as she inspected a car seat she was considering.

I laughed. "I know. Charlie hasn't quite had the nerve to come out and tell me yet, but it was pretty obvious when I started getting care packages from the two of them. Oh—" I snapped my fingers. "Speaking of which, I'm an idiot. Sue just sent me a bunch of stuff to give to you, but I left it all at home."

"What is it?"

"Baby stuff," I said. "Clothes, prenatal vitamins, a book of baby names and _What to Expect When You're Expecting_. And a tub of this stuff called Belly Butter, which she says is great for stretch marks."

"Why did she send it to you?"

I shrugged. "Maybe she didn't want to ask Billy for your address."

"I can't blame her for that," Rachel said, rolling her eyes.

"Is he still upset?"

She sighed and nodded. "Jacob keeps telling me to be patient, but there are only so many months before this kid is born."

"It won't take months," I assured her. "Come on, when Rebecca wrecked his car he was only mad for like a week."

"This is a little bigger than a car wreck."

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. He's your dad and he loves you. He'll be calling any day now to make amends."

She smiled gratefully, and then turned back to the car seat. "How do you tell if these things are FAA approved?"

My truck was considerably heavier when we drove back home, and Rachel's wallet was significantly lighter. She was feeling more prepared, though, having managed to check a lot of supplies off of her list, and she was in good spirits when I dropped her off. Paul helped us load everything into the house, and Rachel chatted happily with him as we worked, eager to show him the things that she had picked out.

I left them to it and headed home, smiling to myself the whole way. Paul was looking about ten feet tall to me these days, and thinking about the way he had stepped up for Rachel made me feel pretty damn good about the world. It was inspiring to see the guy who used to pick on Jacob and me all the time becoming such a loving, supportive man.

It was after dark when I turned into the parking lot of my apartment, and I was surprised to see that there were no lights on. I hadn't expected Carlisle to be at the library this late. My eyes swept the lot for his car and I spotted it, parked not far from my front door. I looked back at my darkened window in confusion.

Had he gone to bed already? Maybe he wasn't feeling well. I went over the list of ingredients for chicken soup in my head as I headed up the walk, wondering if I had everything I needed to make it if I had to.

I let myself inside and flipped on the kitchen light, and my eyes fell on Carlisle's lean form, slumped back on the couch in the darkened living room. He was holding a juice glass half full of an amber liquid, and he was staring off into space, looking miserable.

"Hey," I said tentatively. I had never seen Carlisle drink more than the occasional glass of wine with dinner, so it worried me to see the half-empty bottle of cognac on the end table next to him. "What's wrong?"

He didn't look at me. He took a sip from the glass and raised one foot, bracing it against the coffee table. "You wanted to talk to me about something?" His voice was hard and cold, and it sent icy prickles up the back of my neck.

"Yeah." I set my keys and purse carefully on the table. "You haven't been worrying about it, have you? It's not really a big deal."

"I'd say it's a pretty big deal," he said darkly, throwing back the rest of his drink.

I moved toward the living room, not quite sure how to handle this situation. So far I hadn't been all that adept at dealing with Carlisle's moods. "Are we talking about the same thing?" I asked hesitantly. I doubted Dr. Berty would be one to confess his overly-friendly actions, and I couldn't imagine how else Carlisle would know about what happened.

"I would hope so, Bella," he growled. "I would hope that this isn't something you would try to hide from me." His eyes were trained on the coffee table, which I suddenly realized was scattered with the items that Sue had sent me to pass on to Rachel.

I let out a relieved breath. It was just a misunderstanding. But god, poor Carlisle, freaking out over nothing all night.

"How long have you been sitting here torturing yourself?" I asked with a laugh.

He leaned forward and set his glass on the coffee table, his gaze still pointedly averted from mine.

I dropped down onto the couch beside him and squeezed his knee playfully. "Relax, Carlisle, it's not yours."

His head snapped around, his eyes flashing furiously as they finally met mine. "I know it's not mine," he hissed harshly. "Do you really think I haven't taken steps to make sure I didn't have this problem?"

I was startled by his angry reaction, and I clutched at his knee, my hand gripping the fabric of his slacks as though I could keep him from slipping away if I held him tightly enough. I raised my other hand to smooth the angry lines from his brow, but he jerked away from my touch.

It hurt. I didn't want to admit how much. I was supposed to be prepared for rejection from Carlisle, but that one little snub left me aching.

"It's not mine either," I said quietly.

His eyes returned to the items on the coffee table. "Why do you have this?"

"They're gifts," I said. "For Jacob's sister."

His trembling hands came up and gripped my arms. Hard. I winced a little at the pain, but he didn't seem to notice.

"You're not pregnant?" he asked, his eyes looking slightly manic.

"No."

His hands clenched tighter. "You're absolutely sure."

I nodded.

His grip on my arms slowly eased and he leaned back on the couch again, rubbing his eyes wearily.

I settled against his side, relieved when he didn't push me away. "I don't quite understand why you're so upset," I admitted. "I mean, if you knew you couldn't have gotten me pregnant. . . ."

He dropped his hand and stared miserably up at the ceiling.

My eyes widened. "Did you think I was cheating on you?"

He shook his head and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into his lap. He leaned his forehead against my shoulder and took a shaky breath. "I assumed it was Mike's," he said softly.

"Oh." I was still confused. "I still don't understand. Mike's kid wouldn't be your responsibility."

He held me tightly, his fingers digging into my back. "If you get pregnant, Bella . . . if you have a child . . . I can't be with you."

I swallowed hard. "I know," I said softly, even as I recognized that I was disappointed by his words. It was ridiculous, of course. I had known all along that he would reject anything to do with family or kids. But I was so proud of Paul for being the man that he was, and I couldn't help but compare him to Carlisle. To see the man I was so infatuated with coming up short when measured against _Paul_, well . . . it was a little disorienting.

It was an unfair comparison, though, and it was entirely irrelevant. I breathed in the scent of Carlisle's skin, mingled with the cognac, as I lightly scratched the back of his neck.

"I'm not ready to lose you yet," he whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere."

I sat quietly with him, still completely lost. Was he really this upset because he thought our relationship was over? It wasn't supposed to be like this. I mean, _I_ was supposed to be like this. I knew I would be a wreck when we called it quits. But Carlisle was the reason we weren't more committed to this relationship. He was the one who refused to consider a future together. It wasn't supposed to hurt him this badly

"Are you on birth control?" he asked softly against my shoulder.

"No."

His head snapped up and he glared at me, his eyes flashing angrily. "_Why not?_"

I bristled at his tone. "Because we use condoms," I said, glowering at him. "It's not like we're going to stop doing that even if I do get on birth control."

"They're not enough," he growled. "If you're sexually active and you're not trying to get pregnant, you need to be on birth control."

I rolled my eyes and looked away. "_Thank you_, Dr. Cullen, I really appreciate your _unsolicited_ opinion on the matter."

"Listen to me!" His hand gripped my jaw, pulling me back to face him. "You have to protect yourself as much as you possibly can—listen to me!"

I had started to scoff an answer to him, but he jerked my chin again, commanding my attention.

"No one else is taking care of you," he said severely. "There will be a million people in your life who promise to be there for you, but the reality is that nobody will actually put forth any effort to keep you safe. It has to be _you_, Bella. You have to keep _yourself_ safe."

His fingers were digging painfully into my jaw, and I raised my hand to touch his.

"Please let go," I said softly.

He loosened his grip and started to drop his hand, but I grabbed it and held on. I wanted to know what had happened to him, who had hurt him so badly that he felt he could no longer count on anyone. I even opened my mouth to ask, but when he squeezed my hand and pressed it to his lips, his eyes looking tortured and apologetic, I lost my nerve.

"I tried the pill," I said instead. "It gave me cramps."

"There are other methods."

I suddenly felt very tired. I wanted to go to bed. I wanted to feel him cuddled against my back, his arm draped around me, his hand at my throat. I wanted things to be right again. I glared balefully at the pregnancy supplies on the coffee table, wishing to god I had just remembered to take them to Rachel.

"My insurance doesn't cover them," I said.

"I'll take care of it." He squeezed my hand. "We'll make you an appointment tomorrow, and I'll cover it."

"No." I pushed myself off of his lap and started to rise, but he pulled me back down beside him.

"This isn't something to be careless about, Bella."

"I'm not being careless." I extracted my hand from his, but turned to face him, crossing my legs in front of me. "We use condoms, and apparently you've _taken steps_, so I honestly don't understand what you're worried about."

"You won't always be with me," he said softly.

"Yeah," I muttered, "thanks for that reminder."

"Bella—"

"I know," I said, cutting off his protest before he could twist the knife. "Short term, that's what we both signed on for. I just don't know why the hell you care what happens after we're done."

He looked at me for a moment, his face expressionless, and then drew in a slow breath.

"I shouldn't."

So much for avoiding the knife twist.

"It shouldn't have mattered to me whether you had a ride home," he said softly. "Or whether your boyfriend was cheating on you. I shouldn't have been thinking about you when the earthquake hit, and I shouldn't have come here."

His eyes softened, and he took my hand again. "It was beyond careless of me to start a relationship with you, Bella. But when it comes to you, I can't seem to help myself. I care more than I should. More than I want to."

I was pretty much ready to melt—until that last little bit. More than he wanted to? Caring about me was inconvenient for him? I felt awkward and off-balance, something that I was noticing I felt a lot when I was with Carlisle.

He pulled me close to him again, his nose grazing the shell of my ear. "Let me do this for you."

"You know you're contradicting yourself," I said, staring at his solid chest to avoid his eyes. "You tell me nobody's looking out for me, but isn't that what you're trying to do?"

His breath tickled my ear as he whispered his answer. "Just don't ever expect me to do it again."

Goose bumps prickled my neck, but I wasn't sure whether they were a reaction to his touch or to the sense of foreboding that his words left me with. "Tell you what?" I said, ignoring my body's reaction. "I'll let you make this doctor appointment if, at the same time, we both go get tested for STDs."

"All right," he said, sounding confused. "Why?"

I pulled back so I could look him in the eye, and I grinned. "So I can suck your cock."

His face immediately went hard again. "No."

That wasn't the reaction I had expected. I frowned and threw one leg over his, straddling his lap. "Why not? Do you have something?"

"No," he said irritably, "which, unfortunately, is entirely beside the point."

"How is that beside the point?"

"A negative test result is a false sense of security," he said flatly. "By the time we get it back, either of us could have picked something up, and you would never know."

I flinched back, stung. "Are you . . . are you sleeping with someone else?"

"Of course not," he said impatiently. "I'm saying you can't trust me not to."

"I do trust you, though."

"Then _stop_." His hands gripped my hips tightly, his temper flaring again. "You have a higher opinion of me than you should, Bella. You had a higher opinion of Mike than you should have had. You've got to learn to protect yourself before someone does lasting damage."

I slipped my hands up to his shoulders, absently rubbing his knotted muscles while I looked into his tense face.

"Do you trust me?" I asked softly.

"Absolutely not."

I stared at him for a long time as a handful of conflicting emotions struggled for dominance inside of me. His words hurt, but only because I cared so much for him. I was completely enamored, fairly irritated, and I was even a little scared of him.

And I was sad. Sad that he had been hurt, sad that it had left him so broken, and sad that I wasn't enough to fix him.

There was a small part of me, though, that wondered if he was right. After all, it had clearly been a mistake to trust Mike the way I had. I knew him, knew he was a good person, and yet a brief lapse in judgment had landed him in bed with another woman. If he was capable of something like that, who wouldn't be?

And it _had_ put me at risk. Mike could easily have picked up a disease from her or anyone else and passed it on to me without my knowledge. It disturbed me, in fact, that I couldn't say with certainty that I _didn't_ have anything.

Carlisle was right not to trust me.

"Okay," I said softly, dropping my eyes. "If it will make you happy, I'll go on birth control."

"I'm sorry, Bella," he said softly, one hand raising to cup my cheek. "I don't mean to be cruel, but I can't stress strongly enough how important it is to me to know that you're safe." He lifted my chin with his fingers, urging me to meet his earnest gaze. "In my position, I see a lot of people whose lives are damaged by carelessness. I don't want you to be one of them."

"I'll give you this," I agreed. "Because you're right, I'm not careful enough. I'll do better." I shifted closer to him, pressing my hips against his. "But I refuse to accept that you're not worthy of my high opinion of you."

"Bella—"

"No," I said, touching a fingertip to his lips. "On this one thing I get to be as reckless as I want, and that's just something you're going to have to accept."

"You deserve better," he said solemnly.

"Do I?" I smiled. "Tell me what I deserve."

His hand slid around the back of my neck, and he kissed me gently. "You deserve to be loved, Bella," he whispered against my lips. "You deserve to come first, to be the most important part of a man's life."

I smiled and pulled back so I could see his face. "I intend to have that," I said decisively. "And one of these days I'll get around to pursuing it. But for now, I'm perfectly happy with the way things are."

I wriggled off of his lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet with me. "Now come to bed with me, so I can apologize properly for the heart attack I gave you with all this baby stuff."

His eyes darkened again, his eyebrows pulling together in distress. "You don't have to apologize."

"No, I _get_ to." I grinned at him, tugging him toward the bedroom. "Come on, Carlisle. The make-up sex is the fun part."


	14. Talebearer

********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.********

* * *

><p><strong>14. Talebearer<strong>

Carlisle insisted that I get an intra-uterine device, which I thought was ridiculously expensive, but he declared that it was entirely worth it for five years' worth of peace of mind. I couldn't imagine that he would be giving me a second thought in five years, but we had argued enough about it, so I kept my mouth shut.

We also went ahead with the STD testing, though Carlisle firmly maintained his stance on oral sex and condom use. He didn't want me to feel like he was hiding anything, and though I told him it wasn't necessary, he insisted that we have the tests.

He seemed intent on making me happy after our little fight, and he took me out to dinner on the bay that night after going to see the play as we had planned. It was nice, but it was nothing compared to Sunday morning, when he gave me what I considered to be a precious gift. He took me to his house and spent the day in his garage, teaching me how to make picture frames.

I loved the meticulous attention he paid, the loving way his hands worked the wood, and how he stood close behind me and pressed soft kisses to my neck while his hands guided mine over the miter saw. And I loved that he had included me in this part of his life, which he had formerly reserved just for himself.

When we were finished, we had two simple, yet beautiful cherry wood frames drying on his work bench.

"We'll have to have Jacob take a picture of us sometime this week," Carlisle said, pulling me against his chest and kissing the top of my head. "These frames need to be filled."

We spent the evening curled up together on his couch while he read to me from his book at my request. I had to laugh at how often he halted the narrative to share with me little insights and tidbits of research that hadn't made it into the text. I listened to his anecdotes and peppered him with questions, and generally just enjoyed being with him.

It was a perfect day.

His alarm woke him at five o'clock the next morning, as usual, and I was rolling over to go back to sleep when the ringtone on his phone began to chime. I peeked up at Carlisle through sleepy eyes as he smiled softly at the display and flipped his phone open.

"Good morning," he said quietly. "Have you changed your mind?" His smile deepened, the dimple in his cheek appearing, and he chuckled. "Of course you can. Charge it to my card. What time does the plane land?" He listened for a moment, and then nodded to himself. "I'm in class until ten-thirty, but I'll send a car . . . all right . . . I'll see you in a few hours."

He clicked his phone closed and slid out of bed, moving to the dresser to find the running clothes that had migrated from his place to mine. He pulled them on quickly and disappeared out the door.

I couldn't go back to sleep after that. I couldn't help but wonder who would call him so early, and why he almost seemed to have been expecting it. I dragged myself out of bed and showered sleepily, getting myself ready for classes. I was just setting the coffee pot to brew when Carlisle came in, sweaty and panting from his run.

"You're up early," he commented, moving to my side and leaning down for a quick kiss.

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep." I gave him a half smile, debating whether to ask him about his phone call. Things had just been so _nice_ lately, and I didn't want to mess it up by prying.

"Listen," he said, "I have some things I need to do tonight, and I won't be finished until late. Would you rather I stay at my place so I don't wake you when I get in?"

"No," I said quickly. "I like it when you're here. Just come whenever you're done."

"All right. Don't wait up for me. I don't want you falling asleep in your classes tomorrow." He kissed me again and started toward the shower, but I grabbed his hand to stop him.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Just helping out an old friend," he said with a smile. "Nothing you need to worry about."

I let him go and forced a smile, and he headed off to take his shower.

I tried not to dwell on it. As we got ready to go, as I followed him to school and parked my truck in the lot next to his, as I sat through an open-book test in my composition class, I tried not to fret about that phone call. But there was just something in the way he had smiled, something so warm and sweet, and a secret part of me wished that he would share it with me. I wanted to be there with him through the good times, to see what he loved, to understand him.

It hurt a little to have been blatantly uninvited into this part of his life.

Jacob and Rosalie met me outside of the building after I finished my first class, both of them grinning like Cheshire cats.

"Ready for lunch?" Jacob asked brightly, dropping an arm around my shoulders.

"Just about," I said. "I need to dump some books in my truck."

"We'll walk you."

I eyed them carefully as we headed toward the lot. "What are you two so happy about?"

"Nothing," Rosalie smiled innocently.

"We just have a little surprise for you, that's all," Jacob added.

I groaned. "Jacob, when you surprise me I usually end up in the emergency room."

"Luckily," Rosalie said, "It's _my_ surprise, not his."

"What is it?"

Jacob squeezed my shoulders. "Just remember that you love us," he said. "And that we're only looking out for your best interests."

I stopped, my eyes widening in panic. "What did you do?"

"You know my friend, the skip-tracer?" Rosalie asked. "He called me yesterday and said he found some stuff. He's meeting us for lunch to show us what he got."

"No." I started toward my truck again, shaking my head firmly.

"Bella, come on," Jacob whined. "It's not like any of it is illegal. It's all public information."

"I don't care," I said. "I'm not going snooping around in his business, it's not fair to him."

"A girl needs to know about the guy she's with," Rosalie said. "It's just smart."

_You have to keep _yourself_ safe._

Carlisle's words rose unbidden to my mind, and I bit my lip, taking just a moment to consider listening to what the skip-tracer had to say. God knew I was curious about it. But after a second I shook my head, feeling bad for entertaining the notion even for a moment. Carlisle deserved to have someone trustworthy in his life, someone who wouldn't let him down. I wanted to be that person.

"Forget it."

"_We're_ going to hear it, whether you come with us or not," Jacob said.

I glowered at him. "Don't bother trying to repeat it to me. I refuse to listen to a word of it."

"You can't just bury your head in the sand," Rosalie said impatiently. "If Jasper found something, that means there was something to find."

"He shouldn't have been looking in the first place."

Rosalie started to protest, but Jacob cut her off and nodded toward the parking lot where we were headed. Carlisle was pacing along the sidewalk between the lot and the Ford building where his office was, his eyes scanning the lot.

"What's he looking for?" Jacob asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "He said he was meeting an old friend today."

Carlisle smiled as a black sedan pulled into the lot and parked. The driver jumped out and rounded the car, opening the back door, and a pair of long, graceful legs in stylish heels swung out. The driver offered his hand, and after a moment the rest of the passenger emerged. My eyes scanned slowly upward, taking in a tight black pencil skirt, a burgundy blouse fitted around a slender, yet generously curved body, a long, creamy neck, a sweetheart face, and long, luxurious cascades of caramel hair.

Rosalie gave a low whistle. "Did Dr. Cullen mention that his old friend looks like _that?_" she asked.

I shook my head dumbly, watching with an increasing sense of foreboding as Carlisle strode out to the car and gathered the woman up in a gentle embrace. He held her as though she were fragile and infinitely precious, and he rocked her slightly as he buried his face in her glossy hair.

"Or that he's _in love with her?_" Rosalie gaped.

"He's not," I protested weakly. "He's allowed to have close. . . ."

I trailed off as Carlisle pulled back and cupped the woman's face between his hands, leaning down to press his lips to hers.

I suppose you could have called it a chaste kiss . . . if you were _crazy_. They didn't shove their tongues down each other's throats or grope one another in the parking lot. But there was no denying the tenderness and adoration in that kiss, and I winced at the sudden stabbing pain in my stomach.

"Uh huh," Rosalie said dryly. "I'm sure they're just close friends."

Carlisle pulled back, practically glowing as he took the woman's hand and tucked it into his elbow. His eyes never left her face as he guided her into the Ford building, oblivious to his stunned audience.

"Holy shit," Jacob said.

I barely heard him. The conversation I had had with Carlisle just days before was echoing in my head.

_"Are you saying you're sleeping with someone else?"_

_ "I'm saying you can't trust me not to."_

This couldn't be happening. Not again. It was bad enough the first time, but to be cheated on twice in a handful of weeks?

"Are you ready to go see Jasper now?" Rosalie asked archly.

I swallowed hard and nodded. Carlisle had suddenly lost a big chunk of my loyalty, and digging around in his past somehow didn't seem like quite the crime it had a few minutes ago.

"Come on," Jacob said, grabbing my hand. "We're meeting him at the Law School Café."

As soon as we started across the grounds the guilt kicked in. Hadn't I been refusing to do this on principle? What the hell happened to my principles? They weren't supposed to go flying out the window as soon as something pissed me off. But . . . well, I just really _wanted_ to know! And the fact was, watching Carlisle with that woman made me scared that he was slipping away from me. The two of them matched in a way that Carlisle and I never had. She was beautiful, graceful, and reeked of sophistication, just like Carlisle.

And me? I tripped over my feet and chewed my fingernails.

So I chose to go with Jacob and Rosalie and violate Carlisle's privacy, in the desperate hope that I might come away understanding him a little bit better. That I could use what I learned to somehow make him happier with me. That I could find a way to hang onto him a little longer.

We arrived at the café and Rosalie scanned the room, her eyes lighting up when she saw a tall blond man who looked to be in his mid-thirties lounging at one of the tables. "Jasper!" she squealed delightedly, and darted across the room.

The man smiled broadly and stood, grabbing Rosalie up in an enthusiastic hug. "Hey, baby girl," he said, spinning her around before setting her back on her feet. "How's my Rosie? Are you being good?"

"I'm being an angel," she said, batting her eyes at him.

"You staying true to yourself?" he asked sternly, just a hint of a Southern accent coloring his words. "Not letting anybody else tell you who you should be?"

"Out and proud," she smiled, preening under his attention.

"Good girl." He kissed the top of her head, and then extended a hand and shook both of ours as we joined them. "Jasper Whitlock. You must be Jacob and Bella."

"My reputation precedes me," Jacob said, buffing his nails on his shirt.

Jasper just chuckled. "Come on, Rose. I came all the way out here, the least you can do is buy me lunch."

The two of them headed off for the counter, hand-in-hand, and Jacob cocked his head to the side, watching them leave.

"She's still gay, right?"

I ignored Jacob and headed after them, eager to get lunch and get on with things.

Ten minutes later, we all had food and were settled at the table. Jasper took a big bite out of his sandwich before opening his bag and slipping out a manila envelope. He fiddled with it while he chewed and swallowed, eyeing me warily.

"Before we go over this," he said, "there's something I need you to understand."

"Okay."

"All of you," he said, looking at Jacob and Rosalie as well. "Especially you, Rose. I don't want you jumping to conclusions."

She rolled her eyes. "Like I ever jump to conclusions."

"Just listen." He set the folder on the table. "What we have here is a two-dimensional picture. Now, if I drew a circle on a piece of paper, you all might think I was trying to show you a sphere, when really I was thinking of a disc or a cylinder.

"That's what these reports are like," he continued. "They'll give you a hint at what a person looks like, but that third dimension is missing, which means the things you infer could be very wrong. Frankly, kids, this stuff is great for manipulating people, but it's not very good for understanding them. Get it?"

I nodded, as did Jacob and Rosalie.

"Good. Let's get to it." He flipped open the folder and set aside a photocopy of a birth certificate. "Carlisle Cullen was born to Richard and Judith Cullen in Cleveland, Ohio in 1968. He grew up in low-income neighborhoods, changing addresses every couple of months, but sticking to the same basic areas."

He flipped a page and pointed to a list of notations. "His early grade school records are a little spotty," he said. "The kid got into trouble a lot, usually for fighting." He turned that page over and picked up the next one. "Meanwhile, his mother was building a record of her own. Two arrests for prostitution, two hospital visits for drug overdoses, and then in 1975 she hit the coke a little too hard and it killed her. According to reports, the kid found her body and ran to the neighbors for help."

"Oh my god," I murmured. "Nineteen seventy-five . . . he was _seven_ years old, and he found his mother dead?"

"It doesn't end there," Jasper said grimly. "Two years later, his father was arrested for child abuse, drug trafficking, and using a minor in a drug trafficking scheme."

"Using a minor?" I asked timidly.

Jasper nodded. "Apparently, Richard Cullen was forcing his son to make deliveries. The fact that the kid never got caught, well . . ." he shook his head, "it means he was probably pretty good at it. He knew how to stay out of sight and he knew how to talk his way out of trouble."

"If he could do that, why wouldn't he keep himself out of trouble at school?" I asked.

Jasper shrugged. "I don't know. That's third dimension stuff."

"Is his father still in prison?"

"Nope. He was paroled in 2008, and he's currently working at an auto parts store in Cleveland."

"So if his mother was dead and his father was in prison, what happened to Carlisle?"

"He became a ward of the State," Jasper said. "Unfortunately, the State wasn't all that well-funded where orphaned kids were concerned, so the group home he lived in probably wasn't a particularly healthy environment. He continued to get into trouble, and in 1979 he was ordered by a judge to start seeing an anger management counselor. Not long after, he was placed in foster care.

"From the information I could find, he seemed to do well there. Still a few issues with fighting, but far less frequent. His grades improved significantly, he played high school sports, and he stayed with the same foster parents until he was eighteen. He got a need-based grant and attended Ohio State for three years, and then in 1990 he declined the grant for his fourth year and transferred to California to finish his bachelor's at USC."

"Why did he transfer?" I asked.

"Third dimension," he said with a shake of his head. "You'd have to ask him."

I blew out a frustrated breath. Asking Carlisle about his past wasn't a very attractive option.

"He started working for the University as soon as he got his bachelor's degree," Jasper continued, "and went on to earn a master's and three doctorates while he rose in rank at the school. At the same time, he started publishing. The man's been pumping out a book every couple of years since he got his first degree, and they've been remarkably well-received. By which I mean, he's fucking rolling in royalties."

"He sure doesn't act like it," I frowned. "If he has that much money, why doesn't he have a huge house and a ridiculously expensive car like the rest of the faculty here?"

"There could be a million different things he's doing with that money," Jasper said. "Maybe he's hoarding it. People from poor backgrounds can sometimes be scared of ending up back where they started. Or he could be supporting his father, or his foster parents. Unfortunately, private financial records aren't something I can legally access."

"Is that all?" Rosalie asked, looking curiously at the folder.

"Not quite." Jasper picked up one more piece of paper. "In 2003, he took a trip to Columbus, where he was arrested for aggravated assault and battery."

My eyes widened.

"According to witnesses, he dragged a man out of a bar and handcuffed him to a pole in the parking lot, where he proceeded to beat him bloody with a tire iron. When he was done, he pulled out his cell phone, called nine-one-one, and waited around to be arrested."

"Holy shit," I whispered.

"The victim wouldn't press charges, though," Jasper said, leaning back in his chair. "The police had to let him go, and he flew back to California the next day."

"No way," Jacob said. "No fucking way. I know Cullen. He's not the type to go beating the shit out of some guy at a bar."

"Sure he is," Jasper said casually. "We all are. There's not a person on the planet who's so mild-mannered that they can't be pushed into violence. The question isn't whether he would do it, the question is, what triggered it?"

I stared at my untouched salad, my mind swirling. I had absorbed way too much information today, and I couldn't process it. I didn't _want_ to process it. I wanted to go home, to drag Carlisle to bed and fuck him until I forgot that there was ever a problem.

Except he was with _her_.

I pushed my lunch away and stood up. "Thanks," I said to Jasper, vaguely aware that I was being rude and not caring enough to stop. "I have to go."

"Bella," Jacob protested, but I just turned and strode quickly out of the café, hoping he wouldn't follow.

I took deep breaths as I headed across campus to my stylistics class and, I tried to put together the puzzle pieces to make up the picture of a man. An abusive childhood where he had to deliver drugs and hide from the law, the trauma of losing both of his parents at a young age, a group home, and god only knew how much violence. And then a change, a home, an education, a better life.

And then 1990 came, and there was another change. I puzzled over what had happened to separate him from a life that, at least on the surface, seemed to be going well for him. I couldn't understand him, and my mind kept filling with the memory of Carlisle kissing a beautiful woman in the parking lot next to the Ford building, or conjuring up images of a scared little boy with his hand around his dead mother's throat, searching for a pulse.

I ached for him over the tragedy of his past. I wanted to forget everything and spend my life making it up to him, making him happy. But then there was _that woman_, interrupting my devotion to him, getting in the way when all I wanted to do was love him.

I couldn't focus in class. I sat in the back of the room and pretended to take notes, but I felt like hell. I didn't know how to move forward with Carlisle. I considered ignoring everything, pretending I had never seen him with another woman, and that Rosalie had never asked her friend to look into his past. Except I wasn't very good at keeping secrets. I didn't know how to lock this information away and act like I didn't know about it. It would show all over my face that I was upset about something.

So what should I do? Leave him? After all, hadn't I left Mike for cheating?

Not that I was entirely convinced that Carlisle _was_ cheating. I mean, okay, he kissed somebody. It wasn't like he was sleeping with her. And was a kiss really that big of a deal? If Mike had just kissed his friend from the bar, would I have left him?

But if Carlisle was kissing another woman, he could certainly be doing more with her. How could I know whether he was? I could ask him about it . . . and he could lie. Should I trust him? He would tell me I shouldn't—he _had_ told me I shouldn't. But if he was going to tell me something like that, would he even bother lying?

I was talking myself in circles, and by the time the long class period ended, I was starting to get a headache. I packed my things and headed for the door with the rest of my classmates, but Dr. Berty reached out and hooked his fingers around my arm, drawing me away from the group. He waited for the room to clear and the door to swing shut before fixing me with a sympathetic look.

"It's happened, then, hasn't it?" he asked.

"What?" I felt like I had suddenly been dropped into the middle of an ongoing discussion. Was I supposed to understand what he was talking about? Had I missed something during the lecture I hadn't been listening to?

"You've split with Cullen," he said. "It was about that time, I'm afraid."

"No," I said hurriedly, but truthfully I didn't really know what was happening between Carlisle and me. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Sweet little Bella," he said chidingly, guiding me to his desk and easing me down on the surface. "Let it go graciously, my dear. It was never meant to be."

His condescending attitude aggravated my frustration, and before I could check my words, I burst out, "Why not? What is so impossible about Carlisle and me that it was doomed from the start?"

His patronizing chuckle did little to soothe my irritation, and neither did the arm he slid around my shoulders as he sat next to me. "Ah, Bella," he said. "It's quite ironic that a woman's greatest folly is her sense of heroism."

I had a sudden burning desire to slap the smug smile off of his face. "What do you mean?" I asked instead, grinding my teeth.

"You fell into the same trap as all the others," he said. "You can't be blamed for it, of course. The man is as charming as he is tragic. You saw the sadness in him as he was courting you, romancing you, making you feel like the only woman in the world who ever mattered to him, and you couldn't help but come to the conclusion that you would be the one to save him."

He squeezed my shoulder affectionately. "What you don't understand, though, is that Cullen isn't interested in being saved."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to notice that his fingers were now trailing up and down my upper arm. I was re-thinking the wisdom of wearing shorts and a tank top on days when I had his class, and I wondered if I would end up dying of heat stroke if I started dressing in thermals. "Why not?"

"He's comfortable the way he is," Dr. Berty said. "His conviction is self-imposed and his sentence is self-prescribed. He alone has the key to his prison, and he is wholly unwilling to surrender it to another."

"That can't be right. Nobody is comfortable with misery."

"On the contrary, my dear," he said, rubbing my back, "a great many people choose to suffer when they have everything they need to make themselves happy. It is a curious by-product of an over-moralized society."

"Over-moralized?" I asked incredulously.

"That's right," he smiled, warming to his subject. "This is a nation with an excess of socially dictated values, not unlike Victorian England. The bar is set so high that anyone who aspires to be a 'good man' is practically guaranteed failure. It's only natural that a man, unable measure up to the unreasonable standard, would seek solace in his regret for his shortcomings."

"That doesn't make any sense," I mumbled, even though I could kind of see his point.

"It makes perfect sense," Dr. Berty said firmly. "You've heard his lament that he's not a good man, haven't you?"

I bit my lip and nodded reluctantly.

"Of course you have. The simple fact is, it's easier to be sorry for being a 'bad' person than it is to live up to the standard of goodness. Cullen isn't evil, he's just lazy."

I was suddenly overwhelmed by his oppressive presence and his criticism of Carlisle. I pushed myself off of the desk and ducked around the arm he stretched out to pull me back. "I have to go, I have an appointment," I said quickly, and hurried out of the room.

Once outside, I couldn't decide where I wanted to go. Home didn't seem all that appealing, and neither did the library. I didn't particularly want to rehash the background check, which meant I couldn't call Jacob or Rosalie. I didn't even want to go back to my truck, since it was parked near Carlisle's office. The very last thing I needed was to get a glimpse of him with that woman again.

There was clearly nothing to do but hide. I walked to a coffee shop a couple of blocks from campus and found a corner to hole up in for a few hours while I did some homework. It was crowded and uncomfortable, and I didn't particularly enjoy it, but it was better than the alternative. After a few hours, though, I decided I had probably been hiding long enough and I made my way back to the parking lot near the Ford building.

His car was gone. Relief washed over me as I made my way to my truck and climbed in. A piece of paper tucked under my windshield wiper caught my eye as I did, and I reached out and grabbed it before slamming the heavy door closed.

I unfolded the paper, revealing Carlisle's neat script.

_Bella,_

_ I won't be in until well after midnight. Save a place for me. If I come home to find Jacob in bed with you, I'll have no choice but to give him a failing grade on his term paper._

_ Missing you every moment,_

_ Carlisle_

I wanted to smile and cry at the same time. It was just so sweet, so _Carlisle_ of him to leave a note for me, and if he hadn't been out with another woman, his lighthearted words would have thrilled me. As it was, though, they only soured my stomach.

I drove home and microwaved a pot pie for dinner. I forced myself to eat it, since I had skipped lunch, but it was depressing having dinner without Carlisle there to steal my carrot slices. I wondered if he was having dinner with _her_, stealing _her_ carrot slices, and I glowered at my pot pie as I jabbed irritably at it with my fork. I should have thought to make that rule when we were negotiating the terms of our relationships. No eating another woman's carrots . . . and no kissing her, either.

I had sort of thought it was a given.

I tried to go to bed after I finished eating, but once again, the empty space beside me wouldn't let me rest. After about an hour of tossing and turning, I dragged a blanket to the living room and curled up on the couch. At least then I could feel a solid object behind me, even if it wasn't quite what I craved. I hugged a couch pillow and drifted off to sleep, wishing for the reassuring feel of Carlisle's hand resting lightly around my throat.

* * *

><p>I woke up hours later to the sound of the front door closing, and dragged my sleepy eyes open. The clock on the DVD player said it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.<p>

I watched Carlisle's shadowy form in the doorway as he tossed his keys on the kitchen table and tugged off his loosened tie. He was heading for the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, but stopped when he noticed me lying on the couch.

"Bella?" he asked softly. He moved in front of me and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, one hand coming up to run through my hair. "I told you you didn't need to wait up, sweetheart. It's late."

"I know," I mumbled, too tired to get into any of the issues that were causing the heavy weight in my chest. "I missed you."

"Come on, let's get you to bed." He pulled back my blanket and slid his arms under me, rising as he lifted me against his chest. He smelled like wine and designer perfume, scents that somehow seemed natural in the way they clung to him. They taunted me with the reminder that he had spent the evening in the company of a woman infinitely better suited to him than I was.

Carlisle carried me to the bedroom and gently laid me down on the cool sheets. "I thought," he teased, "that I was breaking you of this ridiculous habit of sleeping in pajamas." He tugged up the camisole I was wearing and pulled it deftly over my head, his lips trailing kisses down my neck and chest until they found my nipple. He sucked it gently, his hand moving to massage my other breast.

I didn't want to fight with him, but I wasn't exactly ready for this, either. I rolled away from him and tugged the sheet up around my shoulders.

He chuckled softly. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'll let you sleep."

I heard soft rustling sounds as he stripped out of his clothes, and then he was sliding into bed with me. I turned over again, putting my back to him, but scooting back and letting him pull me against his body. His arm wrapped around me, his hand circling my throat, and I felt like I was finally home.

I was nearly asleep again when I heard his soft whisper from behind me. "What if we could be more than what we are?" he breathed, so lightly that I doubted I was meant to hear it. "What if . . . what if we could have a future together? Would you want that, sweet girl? Could you ever be happy with a man like me?"

I stayed silent, feigning sleep. I wasn't ready for questions like that—particularly not when we were resting on such shaky ground.

His hand disappeared from around my neck, and I felt him roll over behind me. After some more soft rustling, he was back again, his hands gently threaded something around my neck. I felt the chill of a delicate metal chain and the weight of a small pendant dangling from it, but I didn't open my eyes. I wasn't ready. I just wanted to sleep, and I hoped that when I woke up, today would have turned out to be nothing more than a troubling dream.

Carlisle clasped the necklace, then settled into his previous position. "You're more than I ever could have asked for, Bella," he whispered, lightly kissing the back of my shoulder. "I wish I had the words to tell you how special you are."

I was more confused than ever, but I was still too tired to deal with it. I tucked it away and left it for tomorrow, letting myself drift off into oblivion, comfortable in Carlisle's warm embrace.


	15. First Be Reconciled

**Hi! So these aren't my characters. Barbies before, Twilight now. Right. Guess what? I've been nominated for a Gem Award! They're doing the Opal round, which is apparently Carlisle stories, and someone very sweet threw my little fic in the ring. I'm deeply flattered that it has been appreciated, and though fandom awards have come under ill repute lately (tomato soup, anyone?) it still means a lot to me to have a reader who cares enough to submit my work. That, to me, matters more than the award.**

**And it's not just the story up for an award, but the banner as well! IllicitWriter is unbelievably talented, and she made me a story banner that I've gone absolutely fangirl over. (I even saved it to my computer and set it up as my wallpaper. Oops . . . is my obsession showing?) She worked hard to make sure I got something I loved, and I can't even tell her how much I appreciate her efforts.**

**So anyway, if you enjoy contests, you should dance on over to the Gems and take a look: gemawards dot blogspot dot com**

* * *

><p><strong>15. First Be Reconciled<strong>

Carlisle got up with his alarm the next morning. I honestly expected him to turn it off and go back to sleep, but since the morning after the earthquake he had been religious about his exercise. Getting in at two in the morning apparently didn't constitute a reasonable excuse to sleep in.

As soon as he was out the door I rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. I honestly didn't think I could stand having Carlisle ignore me all morning while he watched his webcast, so I had decided to leave before he got back and avoid the situation entirely. The two of us needed to talk, but it wasn't going to happen before school.

I had forgotten about the necklace Carlisle had put on me the night before, and didn't remember it until I caught a glimpse of it in the bathroom mirror while I was stripping out of my pajama bottoms. I stopped and leaned close to the glass, inspecting the small pewter medallion around my neck. I couldn't make out the tiny details, though, so I took it off to get a better look.

It was a circular pendant, a little smaller than a dime, and in the center of it was an image of a woman holding a shepherd's crook and resting a book in her lap. Arced over the top of the picture, the name _Saint Monica_ was stamped in the metal, and beneath it the simple message, _Pray For Us_.

I stared at it, completely lost. I hadn't the first clue as to why Carlisle would give this to me. Maybe it was a keepsake? Some kind of family treasure? But then, why give it to _me_? If it carried any kind of meaning for him, it didn't make much sense to surrender it to someone who wouldn't be around much longer.

I set the necklace aside and showered quickly, and then debated whether to put the medallion back on as I dressed. I didn't understand it and I was still confused and frustrated, but after all, Carlisle had given me a gift. It was already special to me, whether I liked it or not, and after the words he had whispered last night. . . .

I snatched the necklace up and clasped it around my neck before grabbing my things and heading out the door.

Carlisle called me while I was picking up a cup of coffee, and after a moment of indecision, I let it go to voicemail. He called me again on my lunch break, which I usually spent with him on Tuesdays. Again, I didn't answer. I just couldn't. We weren't going to get anything solved while we were on campus, and I couldn't stomach the thought of trying to talk around the elephant in the room.

Right after I ignored his call, my phone alerted me to an email from the medical center where we had had our STD tests done. Everything had come up comfortably negative, but the situation was practically an echo of Carlisle's own protests. Sure, he had been clean over the weekend, but it suddenly didn't seem beyond the realm of possibility that he had slept with another women since then.

I headed home that afternoon after my classes, feeling heavy. I was tired of feeling this way, and I just wanted it over. I wanted to go to Carlisle's office, to sit with him and hash everything out, but it wasn't like we could have a real conversation in front of Diego and any random student who might drop by with a question about acculturation.

I missed him.

Relief washed over me when I finally heard his key in the lock, and I shoved aside the homework I had been struggling to focus on. Carlisle stepped through the door with a sad smile on his face and a carton of Ben and Jerry's in his hand. He went straight to the kitchen and retrieved a spoon, then moved to sit next to me on the couch. Without a word, he opened the carton, scraped a curl of ice cream onto the spoon, and brought it to my mouth.

I accepted the bite, and Carlisle leaned in quickly to lick a smear of cream off of my lip.

"You've been avoiding me," he murmured softly.

I nodded.

"You're upset with me."

I nodded again.

He leaned back and scooped up another bite, offering it to me. "I don't quite understand why," he said with a small smile. "So I've brought you Cherry Garcia, the undisputed favorite of all the Ben and Jerry's flavors, in a blatant ploy to tempt you into a conversation.

I dropped my eyes, my fingers fiddling absently with the hem of my shirt. "I wasn't trying to avoid a conversation," I said. "I was just waiting until I could have your attention."

He capped the ice cream and set it aside, taking my hands in his. "You have it."

I swallowed hard and clung to his hands. "Who is she?"

He raised my hands to his lips and kissed each of them softly. "Shall I assume you're referring to the friend I was with yesterday?"

"I saw you with her," I said shakily, unable to meet his gaze. "She's _not_ just a friend."

He paused for a moment, and then lowered my hands again. "No," he said softly. "She's not. Esme is very special to me, Bella, but I assure you, my relationship with her is in no way improper. She's far too fine a woman to be involved in something as distasteful as an illicit affair."

Was it strange that his flattery of her was effective in comforting me?

"How do you know her?"

His hands tightened on mine, and in my peripheral vision I saw him lower his head.

"Esme and I were engaged," he said quietly. "A very long time ago."

"You didn't get married?"

"No."

I was starting to feel a little bit lighter. "Why not?"

He drew in a deep breath. "I realized it wasn't the life for me," he said, his voice going slightly flat. "I left her."

I looked up at him, trying to read his face. His eyes were veiled, but he wasn't closing himself off from me entirely. At least, not yet.

"But you're still friends?"

He smiled sadly and nodded. "She was angry with me at first. But Esme always understood me better than anyone else, and she eventually forgave me."

"Do you see her often?"

"No." He released my hands and ran his fingers lightly through my hair. "This is the first time in . . . I guess it's been about five years."

More of the weight lifted off of my shoulders, but there was still that nagging doubt, that image of the two of them. . . .

"You kissed her," I whispered.

His hand moved to cup my cheek. "Esme and I are close," he said. "Honestly, Bella, I'm a little surprised that you're bothered by a little kiss, given the nature of your relationship with Jacob."

"I don't kiss Jacob," I snapped, bristling defensively.

Carlisle smiled, his thumb brushing soothingly over my cheek. "I don't climb into Esme's bed at night," he chuckled. "And the two of us keep our clothes on when we're together."

I felt my cheeks flush with warmth, and I ducked my head. "Fair enough," I said. "But," I swallowed hard, "I mean, do you . . . do you kiss her a lot?"

He leaned close and brushed his nose against mine. "I kissed her hello," he murmured. "And I kissed her goodbye. That's all."

"Do you love her?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I love her very much." He kissed me softly. "But it's not the same as it used to be. Over the last twenty years, Esme has become a very dear friend. She has done things for me that I didn't deserve, things for which I could never hope to repay her."

"How are you that close if you never see her?" I asked anxiously.

"We keep in touch. Phone calls, emails. I usually hear from her around once a week." He leaned his forehead against mine. "Is that something you can accept?"

I blew out a slow breath and nodded. "You put up with Jacob, after all."

He chuckled softly. "I'm glad that you have such a good friend in him."

I played idly with the knot of Carlisle's tie, appreciating the closeness that I had been missing so badly. "Do you regret not marrying her?"

He was silent for a moment, but finally he shook his head. "I regret that I never had the life I imagined with her," he said carefully. "But such a life was never truly an option for me, so no, I don't regret it. Trying to force it would only have led to heartache."

I grabbed the ice cream carton off of the coffee table and opened it again, scooping out a bite and feeding it to Carlisle. "What did you guys do yesterday?"

"First," he said, "she lectured me. She always has a list of things about me that she feels need correcting, and this time it was my inability to cook. So she tried to teach me to make macaroni and cheese."

"From a box, or the real stuff?"

He rolled his eyes. "Esme would never deign to cook from a box."

I grinned and took a bite of the ice cream. "How did that work out?"

"I burned it," he said. "Why you would have to stir a pot of melting cheese, I simply don't understand. But anyway, with that ruined, I was forced to take her to dinner."

I glowered down at my ice cream container. "Did you eat off of her plate?" I muttered, more to myself than to him. I didn't really expect him to answer, so I was surprised when he laughed loudly. I looked up into his sparkling eyes, and he kissed my forehead.

"Do you really care if I ate off of her plate?"

"No," I said sullenly, dropping my eyes again.

Carlisle touched a fingertip to my chin, raising my face to his. "Esme always got very annoyed with me when I did that," he smiled, showing off his dimple. "So no, I kept my fork to myself."

I couldn't hold back the smile. It was a ridiculous thing to get hung up on, I knew, but I just felt _better_ after that. "Good." I scooped out another spoonful of ice cream and poked it into his mouth.

He grinned and took the spoon from me, feeding me a bite in return. "I might have to start keeping a supply of ice cream around. It seems to make these conversations a bit easier."

I grinned and set the container aside, then pushed him down onto the couch cushions. "Tell me more about what you didn't do with her," I said, crawling on top of him and straddling his hips.

He looked me over admiringly as his hands slid up my thighs and under the hem of my shorts. "I definitely didn't get under her clothes," he said, pushing his hands as far up my legs as he could before they were constricted by the fabric.

"Did you try?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, no," he said solemnly. "Haven't you heard? I'm setting my sights on younger women now. I'm only dating students."

"Dr. Cullen!" I said reprovingly, stripping off his tie and slowly popping the buttons on his shirt open. "What kind of a dirty old man are you?"

"The absolute dirtiest." He smiled mischievously and pulled his hands back, tugging me down on top of him. "But I'm remarkably easy to please. All I want is a bright, inquisitive mind, a sweet mouth, lethal breasts, and a pair of legs that would drive a man to his knees."

"Oh, is that all?" I giggled.

"Well, those are the prerequisites." His hands gripped my backside and pulled me hard against him. "Of course, it wouldn't hurt if she had beautiful brown eyes, or the softest hair I've ever touched. And I certainly wouldn't mind if she had a nice, tight pussy that I could bury my cock in whenever the fancy strikes."

"_Whenever_ the fancy strikes?" I teased. "That's a pretty tall order, Cullen."

"Only if she doesn't want it as badly as I do." His hand slid up my back, beneath my shirt, and traced its way up my spine. I moaned softly at the feeling of his fingers, still cool from holding the ice cream, moving over the sensitive skin of my back.

"And what if I'm interested in the position?" I asked. "I can provide you with my transcripts—straight A's. And I have references."

He arched an eyebrow, looking intrigued "References?"

"Mm-hm," I said smugly. "Rosalie Hale, for one."

A grin broke over his face. "I suppose that does demonstrate a certain inquisitiveness of mind." He patted my bottom and rolled slightly, nudging me off of him. "All right, then, let's have a look at your assets."

I gaped at him as I rolled onto my knees next to the couch, and he sat up, grinning wickedly.

"Well, Miss Swan? Do you want the position or not?"

I grinned and bit my lip, shoving the coffee table back a ways before I stood up, giving me room to step back from him a couple of paces. I stepped out of my sandals and kicked them aside.

Carlisle gave me a cocky smile, his eyes roaming over me as I gripped the hem of my shirt and lifted it over my head. When I dropped it on the floor he frowned and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"So sloppy, Miss Swan. I think you'd better pick that up."

I rolled my eyes, but leaned down to pick it up. I didn't miss the way his eyes locked onto my chest and followed me down to the floor. He looked incredible, slumped back against the couch, his eyes dark with desire, his shirt half unbuttoned, one hand rubbing lightly over the bulge in his slacks. He was utterly fuckable.

I stood slowly and folded my shirt, turning my back to him and bending down to set it on the coffee table. I heard his slow intake of breath, and I smiled to myself as I straightened again. I made a show of unclasping my bra, then turned back to him and let it fall from my chest.

Carlisle moaned softly as he looked at me, but then cleared his throat quickly and gestured imperiously. "Come," he said. "Let me see them."

_God_, he was turning me on. I stepped close to him and leaned down slightly, letting him cup my breasts with his hands. He squeezed and caressed them, then rolled my nipples between his fingers.

"These will do nicely," he growled, his breathing growing labored. His eyes flicked to my shorts, and he brought his hands down to my waist, deftly undoing the button and zipper. He hooked my shorts and panties with his thumbs and tugged them down. He let them fall to the floor, and then watched hungrily as I bent down once again to pick them up.

"Very, very nice," he whispered tightly.

I didn't bother folding my clothes this time, just tossed them all back on the coffee table. Carlisle didn't seem to notice. His eyes were exploring my legs, and he reached out a hand, hooking it behind my knee. I let him bring one foot up to rest on the couch beside him, and moaned as his hand caressed the length of my leg.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"Do I meet your standards, Dr. Cullen?" I asked innocently.

He cleared his throat again as he shifted me slightly closer to him. "I'd say your resume is . . . more than adequate." And without warning he leaned forward and dipped his head down, flicking out his tongue to lick my clitoris.

The shock of what he had done, coupled with the zing of electricity that shot through me, nearly made my knees buckle. Carlisle grabbed my hips firmly, holding me steady, and then licked again, a low moan escaping his throat.

"Christ, you taste good," he whispered, his forehead falling against my stomach.

I was speechless. I couldn't believe he was willingly dancing around the edges of oral sex after his adamant refusal just a few days ago. I laced my fingers in his hair, very much wanting him to continue, but not wanting to ask him to. I was afraid it might freak him out and make him stop.

Only, with the way he was trembling, it sort of seemed like something he wanted. I felt one of his hands move from my hip and slide tentatively between my legs, and he paused just a moment before parting my folds and sliding two fingers inside of me.

"Oh, _fuck!_" I hissed, gripping his shoulder with one hand while making a conscious effort not to rip his hair out with the other.

The angle was little awkward, and Carlisle eased my leg down off of the couch and moved me back a step, sliding to his knees in front of me. His tongue flicked out again, teasing me, and then he pushed his mouth firmly against me and sucked my clit into his mouth.

"Carlisle!" I gasped. "Shit, that feels so good!"

He pulled back suddenly, standing and swinging me up into his arms in one fluid motion. He carried me into the bedroom and laid me carefully on the bed before crawling over me. He kissed my lips gently, but then eased slowly back down my body until his mouth once again found the apex of my thighs, and his lips and tongue began their soft, tantalizing explorations.

I had no idea what had brought this on, but I wasn't about to argue. I rolled my hips against him, writhing and moaning in pure bliss.

His fingers joined his mouth, sliding into me again and pumping in and out. I got lost in the sensations, barely noticing the stream of profanity that was pouring out of my mouth as he slowly worked me higher and higher. The delicious ache inside of me was winding into a tight coil, and I buried my hands in my hair, forcing myself not to grind like a mad woman against his face. After all, it probably wasn't a good idea to break his jaw the first time he let his inhibitions slip a little.

But _fuck_ it felt good. Carlisle seemed particularly skilled in this area. An irritating voice in the back of my mind was declaring that if he was really as careful as he claimed to be, this would be his first time going down on a girl, and therefore shouldn't be that good at it. I just moaned louder, drowning that voice out. I had better things to think about than Carlisle's history with other women.

He increased his pace in response to the noises of pleasure escaping from me. His fingers thrust in and out, his tongue flicked and teased and caressed, and before long I was hissing through clenched teeth, my back arched, poised right on the edge.

_Just a little more . . . A little more . . . Fuck!_

The orgasm washed over me, wave after wave of exquisite pleasure rippling through my body as I screamed out in pleasure. Carlisle groaned as he maintained the firm thrust of his fingers, licking and sucking hungrily. Every swipe of his tongue over my sensitive bundle of nerves elicited another involuntary cry from me as I slowly came down from my high, my body throbbing in glorious contentment.

I was so blissfully sated that I barely noticed Carlisle stripping off his clothes or snatching the condom from the bedside table. But I definitely noticed when he fell on top of me again and buried his cock deep inside of me. I cried out at the intense pleasure of it, gripping his shoulders tightly as he began thrusting, hard and deep, rough and demanding.

"Fuck, Carlisle!" I gasped, digging my nails into the taut muscles of his shoulders. "I need . . . deeper . . . _ungh!_"

Carlisle wrapped his arms around me and rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I moaned and pushed myself up, bracing my hands on his solid chest as I rocked against him, taking him deeper inside of me, grinding my still-tender flesh against his.

He was panting with need, his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut, and I took a moment to admire the sight of him. He was fucking incredible, his eyebrows pulled together with need, his teeth clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining hard. His chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and his lean arms flexed as he grabbed my hips and dug his fingers into the yielding skin.

I shuddered in pleasure and bucked against him, feeling the light slap of my necklace against the skin beneath the hollow of my throat. My own nails pressing into Carlisle's chest, marking him with tiny, crescent-shaped dents. He thrust his hips sharply in response, shoving up into me, growling with the intensity of his desire.

"So fucking _tight!_" he ground out through clenched teeth. "Mother of god, Bella, you drive me right out of my mind." He punctuated his words by tightening his grip on my hips and taking control of my movements, slamming me down hard onto his body as he arched up to meet me.

I could feel the tension building inside of me again, spurred on by the desperate desire radiating from his body. Our need was nearly tangible, hanging thick in the air, surrounding us, driving us to take more, harder, faster, until finally my second orgasm broke over me. I bucked erratically against Carlisle, raking his chest with my nails as the pleasure possessed me, filling my mind and my body with unutterable bliss.

Carlisle followed immediately after me, nearly roaring in pleasure as he dragged me against him and hugged me tightly to his chest as he came inside of me.

I went limp on top of him, feeling deliciously boneless as my body draped over his. I found myself being raised and lowered slightly as he drew in heavy breaths, and I smiled to myself in utter contentment. Carlisle was still mine. The woman in the parking lot hadn't taken him from me. He loved her, but he was still mine. I could keep him a little longer.

"Bella," he breathed weakly, "you are in-fucking-credible."

I giggled and found his hand with mine, lacing our fingers together. "You're not so bad yourself, old man."

He groaned and let his head fall to the side. "Are you _trying_ to give me a complex?"

"No, I was trying to give you an orgasm." I pushed up on my arms and winked at him. "How'd that work out."

He chuckled indulgently and rolled me off of him, grabbing the box of tissues from the night stand and bringing it close so we could clean up. "I'm grading you highly on both research and application."

"Do I get to grade you?" I asked, pressing a quick kiss to his dimple.

"Students don't grade their professors," he said, looking affronted. "However, you may fill out a performance evaluation."

"Good." I grinned at him. "You get a high score on your oral skills."

He laughed as we tossed our tissues in the trash, and I snuggled up against his chest. "What made you change your mind, anyway?"

He hesitated, looking a little sheepish. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course. I'm a very nosy girl."

I felt a slight tickle at my scalp as Carlisle played with the ends of my hair. "Esme."

"What about her?" I asked, puzzled. "Like, she told you to?"

He nodded, flashing me a self-conscious smile.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. "So help me re-create this scene," I said. "You're burning the macaroni and cheese, and Esme swoops in just in time to stop you from setting fire to the house, and then she turns to you and says, "You know, Carlisle, you should really go down on your girlfriend."

I felt him shake with silent laughter. "Something like that," he said. "I told her about you, and she said it was time I let go of my paranoia and started trusting people."

"Hmm." I stretched lazily. "Sounds like I need to send Esme a thank-you note." I giggled at his exasperated expression, and I couldn't help but tease him a little more. "I noticed you still used a condom."

He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. "One step at a time, please," he said, his voice coming out thick and muffled.

"I guess I can be patient." I pushed him onto his side again and let my hand run absently over the scratches I had left on his chest. "I have another question, though."

"What's that?"

I drew back my hand and touched the small pendant at my throat. "What is this?"

His eyes instantly shuttered and his face took on a guarded look. "It's nothing, really," he said with forced casualness. "I just thought you might like it."

"Okay, but what _is_ it?"

He pulled me against him, but I got the feeling that it was less a gesture of affection than a way for him to avoid looking at me. "It's a patron saint medal," he said simply. "Many believe they offer a measure of protection to the wearer."

"This is a Catholic thing, right?"

He nodded. "That's right."

"Didn't you tell me that you weren't religious?"

His hand rubbed distractedly over my back. "Not . . . exactly, no."

I pulled away from him and sat up, raising my eyebrows at him.

"You asked me if my doctorate in religious studies made me religious," he admitted. "Truthfully, studying various religions tends to be challenging to faith . . . so no, it does not."

"But you _are_ religious?"

"I suppose you could say that," he frowned. "I don't attend Mass or go to confession, but I do have private methods of worship."

"Like what?"

He gave me a long look, and after a moment he spoke carefully. "During my morning run . . . I pray."

"You _pray?_"

He chuckled anxiously and nodded. "I recite the Rosary and take time for meditation."

"While you run?"

"Does that seem strange to you?" he asked, stroking my arm softly.

"A little," I admitted. "I guess what I don't understand is the _à la carte_ approach to religion. Why is prayer important when Mass isn't?"

He took a deep breath, looking thoughtful. "I've studied too many religions to fully believe in any one of them," he finally answered. "However, I've become quite convinced of the power of faith, of ritual, and of talismans."

I stared at him blankly.

"Faith invokes God's goodwill," he explained. "Ritual returns a man's focus to deity. And though I know it sounds less than credible, I've seen prolific evidence that talismans can act as a conduit for divine power."

"So that's what this is?" I asked, tugging at the medal. "A talisman."

He nodded.

"For protection?"

"That's right."

"Carlisle," I asked softly, "what is it you think I need protecting from?"

He smiled sadly and pulled me close again, kissing the top of my head. "We can all use a little extra protection," he said evasively. "I just want you to be safe."

I decided I had pressed him enough for one day, so I just snuggled against his chest and let my fingers dance up and down his side. "Well, thank you. It's very sweet."

He nuzzled my neck, the slight roughness of his stubbled jaw scraping tantalizingly over my skin. "My sweet Bella," he whispered, "it's the very least I could do."


	16. A Soft Tongue

********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.********

* * *

><p><strong>16. A Soft Tongue<strong>

Jacob and Rosalie were eager for news the next day when I met them at the café for lunch.

"What happened?" Jacob demanded, sinking into the chair next to me. "Is he fucking her? Did you cut off his balls? Do you want me to do it for you?"

I picked up a french fry and bit half of it off, throwing the other half at Jacob. "There was not, nor will there be, any castration. The woman we saw is a close friend of his, that's all."

Rosalie huffed from my other side and crossed her arms over her chest. "Sure she is. I can't believe you're just letting him off the hook."

"We talked it out," I said, shooting her a reproachful look. "Carlisle hides things, but he's honest with me when it counts."

"How do you know?" she demanded. "Jasper said he was probably really good at lying. You wouldn't even know if he was telling you the truth."

"I trust him," I said firmly. "And that's a decision only _I_ get to make."

Rosalie surrendered grudgingly and took a bite of her apple. "Are you Catholic?" she asked, gesturing to my necklace.

A smile rose immediately to my face, and I toyed with the little medal. "No, Carlisle gave it to me."

"What is it?" Jacob asked, leaning close and taking it out of my fingers so he could inspect it."

"It's a patron saint medal," I said. "For protection, or something. I don't know, I just like it because he gave it to me."

"Saint Monica," Jacob snorted. "I've never even heard of her. Carlisle's cheaping out and giving you the obscure saints."

"No," Rosalie said, whipping out her phone, "each saint has particular areas of patronage. He gave you that one because it applies somehow."

"What are you doing?" Jacob asked.

"I'm Googling her."

Jacob got up and moved around the table to look over her shoulder. "There it is, patron saint of . . . wait, married women? That doesn't make any sense." His jaw dropped open as he turned accusing eyes on me. "Unless there's something you're not telling us! Isabella Marie Swan! Did you two take a little road trip to Vegas last night?"

He grabbed my left hand, inspecting my finger, and I jerked it back.

"We didn't get married, douchebag."

"Each saint usually has more than one area of patronage," Rosalie said, ignoring us. "Let me click on another . . . yeah, here we go, there's a whole list. Abuse victims, alcoholics, disappointing children—" She stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. "_Victims of unfaithfulness?_"

I rolled my eyes. "That doesn't mean he's cheating, Rose."

"Yes it does!" she practically shrieked. "Bella, this is a _confession!_"

"That's ridiculous."

"I don't know," Jacob mused. "He could be a sex addict. I mean . . . you two fuck an awful lot. And you said yourself he's been with tons of different women, right?"

I shot him a withering stare and he threw up his hands defensively.

"I'm just trying to look at this objectively!"

"Bella, you _saw_ him with another woman," Rosalie said urgently. "And now this?"

"_This_ isn't a thing. Have you guys forgotten that someone _else_ cheated on me? Maybe he gave me this medal because of that. Or he could just as easily be implying that I'm a disappointment to my parents, or that he suspects I have a problem with alcohol."

Rosalie arched one artfully plucked eyebrow. "You're in denial."

"Yeah, besides," Jacob added, "he's still gay."

I threw another French fry at him. "He's not gay, he's not a sex addict, and he's not cheating on me. And you can both kiss my fluffy white ass."

Jacob snickered, but Rosalie wilted back into her chair, her eyes filling with tears.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Jacob asked.

Rosalie fixed me with a watery gaze. "I wouldn't do that to you," she said quietly. "If I had a shot with you, I'd treat you a lot better than he does."

Her words caught me by surprise, and I stared at her, stunned. I hadn't thought twice about our transition from drunken one-night stand to friendship, and it had never occurred to me that Rosalie might still harbor feelings for me.

Which, in hindsight, was kind of stupid.

"Rose—"

"Don't." She cut me off quickly and forced a smile. "You're straight, I get it. I'm not trying to change you. I just—" She swallowed hard. "I just don't like that you let him shut you out and string you along when there are so many people who would kill for a chance to have a real relationship with you."

I was still reeling, and I struggled to find words to respond to her. I wanted to defend Carlisle, but I didn't know how to do that while still being sensitive to her feelings.

"I agree with Rosalie," Jacob said emphatically. "You two girls were obviously destined to be together. You should totally just make out right now."

Rosalie snorted in disgust. "Do you think about _anything_ other than sex?"

"Not on purpose."

Rosalie ignored him and turned back to me. "You deserve better," she said solemnly.

"You only say that because you don't see all of the good things," I said. "I'm _happy_ with him, Rose. I know it's not always easy, but I don't think it's supposed to be. I trust him."

She set her jaw. "So how do you explain the necklace?"

I looked thoughtfully at her phone as I fiddled with the pendant at my throat. "Victims of abuse, right? Maybe someone gave it to him, and he's just passing it on."

She bit her lip. I could see that she didn't believe it, but she nodded. "Maybe. Just be careful, Bella. Please?"

"I will," I said, but I knew it was a lie. I didn't have any intention of being careful. My relationship with Carlisle was all about recklessness.

Rosalie's words stuck with me, though, whether I wanted them to or not. Why _had_ Carlisle given me that particular medal? If he had intended it for my protection, it was a strange choice. I could only imagine that there were dozens of other saints who would be more suited to me. The patron saint of the accident prone? Children of flighty mothers? Clichés? There had to be something.

I firmly believed that Carlisle had told me the truth about Esme, and we were together so often that it was all but impossible for him to have been with anyone else. Unless he and Diego were getting it on while I was in class, I didn't see how he could have any infidelity to confess.

I finally concluded that he must have formed some sort of attachment to Saint Monica. That seemed like the sort of thing he would do, and if he felt he had developed a special relationship with her, it would make sense for him to give me her medal.

I couldn't ask him, though. He didn't respond well to too many questions, and there were other things I wanted to know. One particular question was weighing on my mind, in fact, and the next day I headed to Carlisle's office, determined to leave with an answer. He had called me to let me know that he needed to work through lunch, so I had offered to run out to a deli near campus and pick something up for us. Their crab and avocado salad was a favorite of Carlisle's, and I was intending to use it to put him in a good mood.

He was on the phone when I walked in, jotting down notes on a paper in front of him while Diego moved around his desk, digging through stacks of files and occasionally transferring one to his own desk. Carlisle gave me a distracted smile as I came in, and lifted a stack of books off of his desk so I would have a place to set the take-out containers. He pushed the books off on Diego, who stared at them blankly.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with these?" he asked.

Carlisle didn't answer, his attention still on the phone, and Diego grinned mischievously.

"Ten minutes," he said to me. "Guaranteed. Within ten minutes of getting off the phone, he'll get all pissy because his books aren't where they're supposed to be."

I giggled. "He's not that bad."

"Watch," he smirked. He waved his hand to get Carlisle's attention as he moved around the desk, then gestured to the stack of books and set them on a chair, directly in Carlisle's line of sight. He made a show of pointing out where they were, and Carlisle nodded in acknowledgment.

"Just watch," Diego said again. "When he's focused like that, _nothing_ gets through to him."

I grabbed the second chair in front of his desk and dragged it around beside Carlisle's. "This will," I said, popping open one of the Styrofoam containers. "He's a man who loves his food."

Carlisle didn't even glance at it as he spoke into the phone, going on about soil density and proper handling of artifacts. I unwrapped a fork and speared a chunk of crab from the container, holding it to his lips when there was a pause in the conversation. He accepted it, giving me an absent smile.

We kept that up for a few more minutes, with Carlisle occasionally accepting bites of his salad, before he finally said goodbye and disconnected.

"Bella," he said warmly, leaning in for a kiss. "You brought my favorite."

"Haven't we talked about you two and your disgusting public displays?" Diego snarked from behind his desk.

Carlisle shot him an irritated look. "Haven't you graduated yet?"

"I keep failing my anthropology class," Diego answered. "The professor is so boring that I can't stay awake through the lectures."

Carlisle laughed softly and took the fork I offered him, digging into his salad.

"So . . . the coolest thing happened," I said, broaching the subject that I was worried might set off his defenses.

He raised his eyebrows curiously as he took another bite.

"Rachel got a call from someone named Dr. Banner, asking her to come in and interview for a secretarial position."

"That sounds promising," he said, his attention shifting to a paper on his desk. "Diego, do you have the sketches of the Wenas Creek site?"

Diego grabbed a folder from his desk and brought it over.

"She's pretty stoked," I continued, not letting the subject drop. "I mean, it's perfect for her, since she wouldn't have to be on her feet all day. And Dr. Banner didn't seem to mind that she would be taking maternity leave right away."

He hummed a distracted response as he slid a hand-drawn map out of the folder and started making discreet marks on it.

"What's confusing, though," I said, "is that she never applied for any secretarial jobs on campus."

This time Carlisle didn't answer at all, just started scribbling notes at the bottom of the page. I didn't buy the act for a second, though. When he was truly focused, he still managed to make it seem like he was listening, even when he wasn't.

"You don't fool me, Dr. Cullen," I smiled. "You got her that job, didn't you? You're a big old softy, you just don't want to admit it."

He stopped writing and raised his head, looking at me with a small smile. "No," he said softly, "I don't want to admit it. And I'd rather not talk about it. I wish your friend all the best, but I do it with the firm request that I remain uninvolved."

"I'll keep your secrets," I promised, stealing a slice of avocado from his salad.

He smiled and tucked the map back into the folder, then looked to the corner of the desk where the food was spread out, as though he was surprised to see it. "Diego, where are my paleontology texts?"

Diego started laughing. "What did I tell you?" he crowed. "_Nothing_ gets through."

"You moved my books while I was on the phone?" Carlisle demanded.

"No!" he cackled. "_You_ did!"

Carlisle looked around his desk, utterly perplexed. "If I had moved them, I would know where they are."

Diego howled gleefully. "Bella, I swear to God, I don't know how he functions by himself. Do you have to dress him in the morning?"

Carlisle tapped his pen impatiently. "Diego, where are my books?"

Diego rose and strode to the chair where he had set the books, making the same gestures he had when he had set them there in the first place.

Carlisle dropped his head onto his desk. "Right," he muttered. "I remember now. It really is surprising that I haven't accidentally drowned myself in a rainstorm."

I laughed and rubbed his back. "The absent-minded professor thing is endearing."

"She means annoying," Diego quipped, moving back to his desk.

Carlisle raised his head and smiled sheepishly, pulling my chair closer to his. "I'd have found them eventually."

"I totally believe you," I nodded.

Carlisle worked through the rest of my break, and with occasional reminders from me, he actually managed to eat lunch in the process. About the time I was packing up my things to go, though, he threw down his pen in frustration.

"I need my books," he said. "I'm going to have to work on this at home. Bella, would you mind if we spend the next couple of days at my house?"

"That's fine," I agreed. "I'll have to run home and pack a few things, but it's no big deal."

He paused and looked at me thoughtfully. "You know, I think I will too," he said, an odd light shining in his eyes. "Most of my clothes are at your apartment."

His comment sent a little thrill through me, and I smiled as I hitched my backpack onto my shoulder. "I'll meet you at my place after you're done here, then." I kissed him goodbye and headed off to class, feeling unusually light-hearted.

* * *

><p>The next few weeks were some of the most comfortable I had had with Carlisle. He was sweet and charming, as always, and I was flattered beyond reason when a picture we had taken together appeared in the frame we had made together, on a shelf in his home office. I hadn't missed that he didn't keep pictures of anyone else in his house, including Esme, and I was feeling smugly triumphant about that fact. I placed my own copy of the picture on the night stand next to my bed, and I occasionally caught Carlisle looking at it as he got ready for bed, a tender smile pulling at his lips.<p>

We went out several times, too. We did everything from dinner and a movie, to art exhibits, to picnics on the beach, and when I didn't have much homework to do, he stopped insisting on ordering in and actually let me cook for him. He seemed to like it, in fact. The man who vehemently rejected all things domestic had a secret fondness for home-cooked meals. I couldn't blame him. Take-out was fine and all, but how many years had he been living off of it?

The sex got better, too. I wouldn't have believed it was possible, but his inhibitions dropped enough that he no longer insisted on condoms, and that offered a lot more freedom than I had realized it would. I would occasionally glance at Carlisle and catch him watching me with an appreciative look in his eyes. He would usually kiss me and go back to whatever he had been doing, but within minutes his hands would be creeping over my body, loosening clothes, tugging them away, and I would find myself bent over or sprawled across whatever piece of furniture was handy.

I was _really_ enjoying it.

There was, however, one step we hadn't taken, and I couldn't quite understand why. Any time my mouth got anywhere near his nether regions, he would drag me away and do his level best to distract me from my goal. He was good at it; his distractions were highly effective. Yet it didn't make sense to me that he would work so hard to avoid a blow job if trust were really the core issue. It certainly wasn't more dangerous for him than going down on me, or than sex without a condom, and those were activities we frequently enjoyed these days.

I wasn't giving up, though. Sometimes he just needed to be eased into things. So one evening, after the two of us had washed the dishes that I had used to make dinner, I sidled up to him and pushed him back against the kitchen counter.

"I _really_ appreciate your help," I told him, tugging off his tie and kissing the exposed hollow of his throat.

His arms came around me automatically, and on hand slid invitingly over my backside. "Any time, sweet girl."

He was receptive. Excellent. I started popping open the buttons of his shirt, kissing my way down his chest as I went. He moaned lazily, his hand moving up to stroke my hair, and I smiled to myself as I slowly lowered myself to my knees, pressing eager kisses down his stomach as I went. I was starting to think he wasn't going to protest, but as soon as I started tugging at his belt buckle, his hands closed around my wrists and he dragged me back to my feet. In one fluid motion he lifted me off of my feet and turned me around, setting me on the counter while his hands started exploring under my shirt.

"Carlisle," I purred softly as his hungry lips moved over my neck.

"Hm?" He pulled at the hem of my shirt, and I raised my hands to let him strip it off of me, bringing them immediately back to his solid shoulders.

I nipped at his earlobe before sucking it into my mouth and eliciting another moan from him. "I want to suck your cock," whispered in his ear.

I felt him stiffen for just a moment, his whole body going rigid, but then he melted again and started kissing down the line of my bra strap. "I had something else in mind."

"You always have something else in mind," I grinned. I pushed him back and slid off of the counter, dropping to my knees again.

"Bella," he said reprovingly, taking my arm and trying to pull me up again.

I stayed on my knees, my hands holding his waist while I peppered kisses over the front of his pants. I could feel him hardening beneath the layered fabric, so I knew there had to be _something_ he was enjoying. "Why don't you want this?" I asked him, nuzzling his growing erection.

"Bella, please." He tugged harder on my arm, looking distressed, and I let him draw me to my feet again.

"Why?" I asked, pushing his shirt back and resting my hands against his chest.

"It's not . . . right."

I couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled out of me. "It's not _right?_ Is this a religious thing? Because if so, it probably also wasn't right last night when you threw me down on the kitchen table and fucked me senseless."

"It's not about religion," he said tightly. "It's not . . . respectful."

"Respectful," I grinned. "Are you serious? I mean, did you think it was respectful when you told me you wanted to fuck my tight cunt until I was screaming your name?"

He winced. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that bothered you."

"It didn't," I laughed. "I _liked_ it." I ran a hand down his chest to the front of his pants and massaged his erection. "And I've been dying to get a taste of your cock."

"Bella, please." He grabbed my hand and pulled it away.

"I don't get it," I told him. "Most guys would be twelve different kinds of happy to get a blow job. I don't see why you wouldn't be."

He pulled me close and pressed my head against his chest, obstructing my view of his face. "Does it really matter?"

"No," I said, feeling deflated. "I just wish you would help me understand why."

He laughed bitterly. "Trust me, Bella, you don't want to know."

"I do." I pulled back and gazed earnestly into his face. "I want to know everything about you."

He dropped his gaze, looking pained. "You may change your mind," he said. "Once you know . . . you can't forget it."

"That's _my_ problem."

He licked his lips nervously and nodded. "All right." He brought my hand to his lips, then guided me out of the kitchen to the living room sofa. He pulled me down into his lap and wrapped his arms around me, pressing my head down onto his shoulder so that, once again, I couldn't see his face.

Several long seconds passed in silence. Finally, Carlisle pressed a kiss to the top of my head, keeping his lips against my hair as he spoke.

"My parents . . . weren't particularly good to one another," he said hesitantly. "They fought a lot. It would usually start out as an argument, and progress quickly to something more physical."

I was stunned. I couldn't believe he was actually telling me about this. When I had asked him to help me understand, I had no idea I was asking for information about his family. Carlisle _never_ talked about his family.

"Since my father had a significant size advantage," he continued, "these incidents generally didn't end well for my mother. If she wanted him to stop hurting her, she had to apologize to him, and in my father's eyes, her apology wasn't complete until she had been completely humiliated."

"Oh," I whispered, suddenly understanding his point. I slipped a hand up to rub the back of his neck in a laughably inadequate attempt at comfort. "And you saw that?"

He snorted. "They weren't particularly discreet about anything they did. It was a rare week if I didn't see my mother on her knees at least once, trying to make up for some ridiculous offense while she bled on the carpet."

"Jesus." I buried my face in his neck. "Carlisle, I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago," he said flatly. "But I want no part of it. I swore I would never be that man."

I tugged lightly at the short hairs at the back of his neck. "I understand that," I said, "but accepting a blow job isn't the same thing as forcing it on someone."

He swallowed hard. "It's difficult to see the difference, sometimes," he said softly.

I kissed his neck, tightening my arm around him. "We're not fighting," I told him. "I'm not apologizing. You're not humiliating me. I _want_ this, Carlisle, and I understand if you can't adjust your mindset, but I'd really like it if you'd try."

"It's not that easy," he murmured, his fingers stroking through my hair. "I would prefer not to withhold anything from you, but I'm afraid this may not be something I can give."

"Don't worry about me." I shifted on his lap so I was straddling him, and I kissed him firmly. "I'll get by just fine, no matter what. But . . . does this mean you've _never_ had anyone go down on you?"

He hesitated, then shook his head.

"But you've gone down on them." I wasn't asking, and he didn't deny it. He just nodded.

"It's time someone returned the favor," I smiled. I pecked him on the cheek, and then slithered off of his lap and dropped to my knees. He didn't stop me, but the look he shot me was far more pained than anticipatory, and I hesitated.

"Maybe we should do this in the bedroom," I suggested. "No kneeling involved."

He gave me a long, searching look, then nodded. I rose and took his hand, and we headed into the bedroom together. Carlisle sat on the bed, looking anxious, and I crawled on after him and sprawled out on the pillows.

"Lie down and relax," I said, tugging gently at his elbow.

He complied, settling next to me, and I rubbed a hand lightly over his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles.

"This is supposed to be fun," I teased him, rolling onto my elbow and kissing down his neck. "Just trust me. Don't I always make you feel good?"

His expression softened and he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "Yes," he whispered, "you always do, angel."

I kissed him deeply, shifting on top of him and starting with things I knew he liked. I ran my fingers through his hair, bit gently on his lower lip, grazed his nipple with my thumb, and eventually I managed to get a soft moan of pleasure out of him. Talk of his parents had thoroughly deflated any arousal he had felt before, but I could feel him starting to harden again, and I slowly rocked against him.

"Oh, Bella," he groaned, his hands moving to my waist. He rubbed up and down my sides, his anxiety showing in his jerky movements. "You're so good . . . so good to me. You don't have to do more, sweet girl, you already give me more than I deserve."

"This is me taking," I murmured. "_I_ want this, Carlisle. I want to taste you, want to know what it feels like to have you in my mouth, on my tongue."

His breath caught in his throat and his hips jerked against me, grinding his hardening member between us. I smiled. If just talking about it got him going, he definitely wanted it. It was only his skewed sense of propriety that held him back.

It wouldn't for long.

I trailed kisses over his chin and down his neck. I took my time, letting my lips and tongue explore first the rough stubble, and then smooth skin. My hands joined my lips as I journeyed down his body, caressing toned pectorals and hard abdominals. I let my mouth follow the light trail of course hair that began at his navel and disappeared under the waistband of his pants. I very much wanted to go where it was leading me.

I quickly unbuckled Carlisle's belt and opened the fastening of his pants. I tugged them down, along with his boxers, just far enough to uncover his hard, twitching member. As soon as the clothes had been pulled away, though, his body went rigid.

"Bella—" he choked. "Bella, please."

I wasn't sure whether he was asking me to stop or continue. I wondered if _he_ even knew. But I paused to give him time to get used to things, peppering his stomach and hips with kisses as I dragged my fingers to his solid erection and took it in a firm grip. Carlisle growled in the back of his throat as I started pumping him, slowly and rhythmically.

"Your body is amazing, Carlisle," I breathed. "There's no part of you I don't want to touch, no part of you I don't want to taste." I grazed my teeth over his hipbone, and he groaned in pleasure. The tension in his muscles eased slightly.

"Just relax," I encouraged. "This is about exploring and appreciating each other, that's all. Don't let anything else get in the way."

He took a deep, shaky breath, and his muscles released a little more.

I wanted him to be ready when we started this, so I continued slowly stroking his cock and kissing all around the general area, but keeping my lips far enough away that he wouldn't be too nervous. I slid my other hand soothingly up and down his thigh, and very slowly, over several minutes, he finally let himself loosen up.

A bead of moisture had gathered on the tip of Carlisle's cock, and I used my thumb to capture it and spread it around the head. He hissed sharply, bucking into my hand as I caressed the sensitive skin, and I grinned. He was definitely ready.

I leaned down and ran my tongue around his head, tasting the salty fluid. Carlisle tensed again, though I could feel the difference this time. His hands gripped the bedspread, but in pleasure instead of anxiety. I ran my tongue up his warm organ, from base to tip and he let out a ragged moan.

I loved it. I loved that he was letting go and allowing himself to enjoy the experience. I pushed him a little further, wrapping my lips around his shaft and sucking lightly on the sensitive tip.

"Jesus Christ, Bella," he growled.

I swirled my tongue around, teasing the soft skin, drawing more indulgent sounds from him. Confident that he was enjoying it, I took him deeper into my mouth, opening my throat and sliding him back as far as I could. He cursed sharply, one hand moving to tangle in my hair.

I took my time and enjoyed him, alternating between taking him as deep as I could, and pulling out a little so I could suck harder or tease his velvet skin with my tongue. I could tell he was getting more excited, his moans becoming urgent, and I pulled him in deep again, just as his hips gave an involuntary jerk. The unexpected movement pushed the head of his cock against the back of my throat, triggering my reflex and making me gag slightly.

"Shit!" he hissed, jerking away immediately. He grabbed my arms and pulled me up next to him, wrapping me in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, Bella," he breathed. "I'm so, so sorry."

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He pressed earnest kisses to my face and neck as he clutched me to his chest.

"You didn't," I assured him, brushing my fingers soothingly over his cheek. "It's not a big deal, Carlisle. I went a little far—it's a natural reaction."

He started to argue, but I cut him off with a kiss. "It's happened before," I said when I pulled back. "And it will probably happen again, because I kind of like pushing my limits."

"You shouldn't have to do that," he said tightly.

I laughed and kissed him again. "I _don't_ have to." I started to push away, to ease back down his body, but he pulled me back again. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, his fingertips just brushing my pulse point, and he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I can't," he said. "This is too much to ask of you."

I shook my head in frustration. It had been going well, and I could still feel his solid length trapped between us. He wanted more, he just didn't think he _should_ want more.

"What if you were giving a little back at the same time?" I suggested.

He furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you get me off while I get you off. Would that make you feel more comfortable with all this?"

He thought for a moment, looking troubled, then nodded.

"Good," I grinned. I started stripping out of my clothes, and Carlisle assisted gladly, tossing them in a pile on the floor. I moved on to his, tugging them the rest of the way off, leaving both of us naked. I kissed Carlisle one more time, then turned around on the bed and knelt over him. I lowered my sex carefully down to his mouth as I lay across his body and began teasing his cock with my tongue again.

Carlisle answered with a tentative lick, and I moaned around him. The vibrations from my voice earned me another jerk of his hips, and I began sucking and licking eagerly.

Carlisle's tongue, meanwhile, was dancing around my swollen bundle of nerves, flicking, swiping, driving me crazy. I was on overload from the pleasure he was giving me, and the thrill of being allowed to taste him. I didn't push myself to take him very deep, not wanting to worry him again, and instead I sucked firmly and bobbed my head rhythmically, using my hand to stimulate the length of his shaft that I couldn't fit in my mouth. I set a steady pace to match his tantalizing licks, but I was having a hard time focusing with the desperate need building inside of me. It was all I could do not to grind myself against Carlisle's face.

I was vaguely aware of the urgent thrusting of his hips and his loud moans, and I knew he was getting close. Just as I was. I sucked him in earnest, channeling my own growing desire into the movements of my mouth. We were both letting out muffled groans and rocking against one another, and I knew I was going to lose it soon. The sensations were driving me mad, and finally I snapped, crying out around Carlisle's thick member as his tongue caressed me to orgasm. Pleasure coursed through me, throbbing and pulsing, leaving me breathless. It was only with great effort that I managed to correct my faltering pace, and I struggled to remind myself that I was doing this for Carlisle, not myself.

He was close too, I knew. I renewed my efforts, increasing my speed and sucking firmly as his tongue continued to move over my sensitive folds, tasting the aftermath of my orgasm. He was moaning louder now, his hands gripping my hips tightly, and it was only a few seconds more before he was arching into me, thrusting demandingly into my mouth.

"I'm going to come, Bella," he panted, his voice strained. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good . . . _fuck!_"

His final curse was punctuated by a hard thrust, and hot liquid spurted into my mouth. I swallowed quickly accepting more and swallowing that too, until Carlisle's erratic movements subsided and his body went limp.

I eased my mouth off of his softening member and crawled off of him, turning around and scooting up beside him. He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me against him, burying his face in my neck. His heavy breaths tickled my skin, and after a moment I realize that, once again, he was whispering something. I held my breath, listening curiously, and just barely caught the labored words, " . . . to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit . . ."

My eyes went wide and I let my breath out in a rush. I had to make a conscious effort not to pull away from him. Carlisle was _praying_, for Christ's sake! Did he always do this? Whenever I heard his soft whispers after sex, was he praying then, too? I was suddenly terrified that he was confessing, asking forgiveness for what we had just done and a hard knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

"Are you okay?" I asked him tentatively.

Carlisle raised his head and kissed me, his mouth flavored by my own tart fluids. "I didn't hurt you?" he asked.

"No."

He kissed me again, deeply and passionately, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "My girl," he whispered. "My sweet Bella. I—"

He stopped abruptly, and I waited for him to finish, but he just shook his head and collapsed back onto his pillow."

"You're amazing, Bella," he murmured breathlessly. "I don't deserve you."

"Don't say that." I snuggled against him and clung to him, feeling decidedly wrong-footed. There was so much about Carlisle that I didn't understand, but the closer we got the more desperately I wanted him. "Don't think those things," I begged. "Just be with me."

"Anything you want," he replied softly.


	17. A House Divided

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

* * *

><p><strong>17. A House Divided<strong>

It was Friday afternoon and I wanted the week to be over.

Badly.

Dr. Berty was telling some long, self-congratulatory narrative about how he had corrected Noam Chomsky's grammar, and I was bored out of my mind. I had stopped listening several minutes ago, and was currently engaged in trying to stare at the clock without being completely obvious about staring at the clock.

The chime of the bell was the most welcome sound in the world. I scrambled to shove my books into my bag and hitched it over my shoulder, making my way toward the classroom door. Thankfully, I didn't have to dodge Dr. Berty's hands anymore. Once he realized that Carlisle and I were still very much together, he had backed way off. He may have been ethically challenged, but apparently there were still some lines he wouldn't cross. It seemed bizarre to me that he would show more loyalty to Carlisle than to his wife, but I wasn't complaining. I just wanted him to leave me alone.

Another hand grabbed mine as I exited the classroom, though. It was cool and callused, and as familiar as the smell creosote in the desert heat. I smiled as Carlisle pulled me out of the crowd of students fleeing the mind-numbing boredom of Dr. Berty's reminiscences, and drew me in for a kiss.

"Go out with me tonight," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Let me take you dancing."

I giggled. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed that I can barely walk without injuring myself? I'm hazardous on the dance floor."

"That's a shame," he sighed. "Well then, I guess it had better be a karaoke club. You can sing to me instead."

I smirked. "Then _you'd_ be the one in pain."

"Alright, then. Why don't we stay in? I'll cook you dinner."

"So karaoke, huh? That sounds like fun."

He chuckled and tucked me under his arm as the last of the students filed out. "If we do that, though," he said, pulling me back into the classroom, "we'll have to go far from campus. The last thing I need is to run into any of my students and give them more ammunition against me."

Dr. Berty had settled himself behind his desk, and was regarding us with a raised eyebrow. "Cullen," he said amiably, "I was beginning to think you had forgotten where my office was."

"I haven't forgotten. It's just that you're an insufferable egotist, and I avoid you as often as I can."

Dr. Berty chuckled. "What can I do for you?"

"I've come to collect on one of those favors you owe me."

"I don't owe you any favors."

"You owe me exactly six," Carlisle said. "Shall I remind you of their names?"

Dr. Berty cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What do you want?"

"Someone thought it would be amusing to sign me up for a college fair at one of the local high schools. I need you to go in my place."

"No!" Dr. Berty groaned. "Not the high schools!"

Carlisle gave him a winning smile.

"Teenagers," Dr. Berty spat, disgusted. "Texting, tweeting, butchers of the English language. Do you know what I hear, Cullen? I hear they've started replacing the letter E with the number _three_ in their little mangled messages. Tell me, how does one expect to have a rational conversation with a person who would do that?"

"That's your problem."

Dr. Berty glared at him. "I despise you."

"I have a rather poor opinion of you myself," Carlisle smiled. He pulled a sheet of paper out of the bag he had slung over his shoulder and dropped it on his colleague's desk. "There's your itinerary. Do try to enjoy yourself."

"You're going to hell for this!" Dr. Berty called after us as Carlisle steered me back out of the room. "The ninth circle is reserved for exactly this kind of treachery!"

"Oh, good," Carlisle smiled as we strode down the hall. "I've been upgraded from the seventh."

"That was ruthless," I teased him. "Now I'm wondering exactly how many favors _I_ owe you."

"It's I who owes you," he said with a smile. "I could spend the rest of my life trying to work off my debt, and never manage it."

I shrugged dismissively. "You're just saying that because I give good head."

He laughed and tickled my side, grabbing my hand when I squirmed away.

"I'm finished for the day," he said as we exited the building. "I just have to drop by my office and pick up some tests that Diego wanted me to look over, but then I'm free for the weekend."

"Hence, all this talk about karaoke clubs."

"Right," he grinned.

I scrunched up my nose. "Hate to spoil your plans and all, but I'm still underage. We can sing along with the radio at home, though."

He laughed and squeezed my hand, but his face grew serious again after a moment.

"Bella, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I said, "though I don't promise to answer honestly."

He gave me an odd look. "Why not?"

"That's what feminine wiles are all about." I batted my eyelashes at him. "Lies and half-truths. That's how we girls keep our men interested."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a dangerous creature, Isabella Swan."

"_I'm_ dangerous? I'm not the one who blackmails my friends."

"Now there's a lie if I've ever heard one. With all the dirty little secrets you and Jacob have between you, I'll bet you're constantly manipulating one another."

"Our secrets are not dirty," I said, feigning insult. "Nearly all of them are couched in good, clean, drunken fun."

"Mmhm," he said dryly. "But you've used them against him, haven't you."

"I plead the fifth."

Carlisle laughed and brought my hand to his lips.

"But back to the subject at hand," I said. "What did you want to ask me?"

He tucked his free hand in his pocket and frowned down at the ground. "Your apartment," he said hesitantly. "Are you . . . do you like it?"

I didn't know what I had expected him to ask, but it certainly wasn't that. I shrugged, giving him a puzzled look. "It has character, right?"

One corner of his mouth pulled up for the briefest moment, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did you sign a contract through Fall and Winter terms?"

"Not yet," I said. "They'll hold my spot for me, though, so I'm not worried."

His grip on my hand tightened a little. "I was just thinking . . . it's not bad now, but if you get a roommate it might start to feel a little cramped."

"Probably. Plus, no more fucking on the kitchen table, which would be inconvenient."

He didn't even crack a smile that time, and I started to wonder if he was genuinely worried about this. I had to concede that it was a valid concern. If I got a roommate, would she be uncomfortable with Carlisle hanging around so much? And what if, god forbid, she was in one of his classes? There was a whole ethical issue that I hadn't considered.

We had reached the Ford building, and Carlisle pulled the door open for me, ushering me inside and heading toward his office.

"Listen, Carlisle," I said hesitantly, "I'm sure I can talk Jacob into moving in with me if you're worried about problems coming up with other roommates."

"That's . . . not exactly what I had in mind," he said, looking chagrined. Under his breath, he added, "I would actually prefer for Jacob to have a little _less_ access."

"You're not actually still worried about him, are you?" I laughed.

He raised a reproachful eyebrow. "The boy who's so familiar with your underwear that he knows when you're wearing something new? Why would I be worried?"

"Aw, that's not fair," I protested. "Jacob hasn't seen my underwear in weeks. I haven't even shown him my new corset."

He stopped short, his eyes glazing slightly. "Your new corset?"

I grinned and started walking backward toward his office again, tugging him after me. "That's right. If you're a very good boy, maybe you'll get to see it this weekend."

He dragged me back to him and wrapped me in his arms, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear. "Have you been holding out on me?"

"Of course not," I said. "I'm just building anticipation." I wriggled out of his embrace and started toward his office again. "Let's get your things and go home, shall we?"

"You keep distracting me," he admonished, following after me. "I'm trying to talk to you about something."

"So talk," I said innocently. "I don't know how you'd get distracted by something as silly as a lace bustier."

He cleared his throat. "It's lace, is it?"

"With a little bit of silk. A _very_ little bit."

"Really?" he said absently, licking his lips.

"Yep." We arrived at his office door and I turned to face him, running one finger down his chest. "And this teeny-tiny pair of panties to match."

"You're such a little tease," he growled quietly, pushing me back against the door. "There are consequences for getting a man all worked up, you know."

"Are there?" I asked coyly, hooking one leg around his.

"Absolutely." He slid his hands beneath the hem of my shirt and traced the skin just above the waistband of my shorts. He lowered his lips to my neck, ghosting them over my skin, and then without warning, he started tickling me.

I shrieked with laughter, trying in vain to twist away, but his body pinned me against the door as his fingers attacked me mercilessly. "Uncle!" I cried desperately. "I give! No more teasing!"

Carlisle relented, his eyes bright with mirth, and he kissed me as he fished the door key out of his pocket. "I hope you've learned your lesson," he grinned.

I nipped playfully at his lip. "You're a very good teacher, Dr. Cullen."

Carlisle unlocked the door and held me against him as he pushed it open. He glanced past me into the room, surprise registering briefly in his eyes, before his smile fell and the color drained from his face. His carefree expression twisted into one of horror, and I turned in his arms to see what he was looking at.

Perched on the edge of Carlisle's desk, in a space I could only assume he had cleared himself, was a guy who looked to be about my age. He was tall and lanky, with artfully tousled bronze hair and bright emerald eyes, and he was grinning happily at Carlisle.

"Edward." Carlisle's shocked whisper was barely audible, but the boy's smile widened.

"I'm impressed!" he said brightly. "I didn't think you'd recognize me."

Wrapped in Carlisle's arms the way I was, I couldn't help but notice the tremors that shook his body. "What are you doing here?" His voice was slightly louder this time, but still weak and faltering.

"I came to see you!" He looked as though he were delivering welcome news, though Carlisle didn't seem at all pleased to be receiving it. "I hope you don't mind, your T.A. let me in. He seems great."

Carlisle swallowed hard, steadying himself. "I thought you were out of the country," he said, a sharp chill in his voice.

His visitor looked surprised for just a moment, but he quickly buried it under his beaming smile. "I was," he said. "But I'm back now, so I thought I'd drop in to say hello. She's _pretty_, by the way. You should introduce us." He punctuated his final comments with a wink at me.

"Get out," Carlisle said flatly. He stepped inside the door, bringing me with him and clearing the way for the boy to exit the room.

"Aw, come on, I just got here." He hopped off of the desk and strode over to me, grabbing my hand and shaking it warmly. "Hey, I'm Edward Platt, how are you? What's your name?"

"Bella," I mumbled, turning to look at Carlisle. He was grinding his teeth furiously, glaring at Edward.

"What do you want?" he asked through his teeth.

"Can't a guy drop in to say hello?" Edward asked, spreading his hands innocently.

Carlisle just glared at him, and Edward turned a lopsided smile on me. "I guess he's not very happy to see me."

"Leave," Carlisle hissed, "and don't ever come back here again."

"Fine," Edward said in surrender. "You know what? You're right. This isn't just a social visit." He returned to the desk, settling on the edge of it again, his brilliant smile coming back. "I actually have some _really_ great news. Did you know that USC gives free tuition to the children of faculty?" He threw his head back and laughed as though he had just told some terrific joke. "I mean, couldn't you just shit? After twenty-one years, you _finally_ gave me something!"

My stomach clenched as the implications of Edward's words settled on me. My first instinct was to reject them, and I looked to Carlisle, waiting for some kind of denial.

"No," he said, his voice tinged with panic. "I'll pay your tuition for any other school in the country—any other school in the _world_—but you cannot come here."

"I have a better idea," Edward grinned. "Instead of blowing all that money on tuition, why don't you just give it to me? We'll call it . . . back pay on my allowance."

Carlisle's arm tightened around my waist. "How much?" he demanded.

"Hey, I'm kidding!" Edward laughed. "Relax, old man, I don't want your money. Just your benefits. Free tuition, you know?" He looked me up and down again, shaking his head. "Damn, she is really something. You know, I can't really blame you for walking out on Mom when there's a never-ending flow of hot co-ed pussy to be had."

"Get out of my office," Carlisle spat, "or I'll call security and have you thrown out."

"Just hold your horses," Edward smirked. "I have a reason for coming by. See, since your name was never actually recorded on my birth certificate, the university needs me to provide them with a statement of paternity." He picked up a paper off of Carlisle's desk and waved it in the air. "I just need your John Hancock, and I'll be on my way."

"Absolutely not," Carlisle growled darkly. "Pick another school, and I'll mail the tuition check."

Edward sighed dramatically. "Look, if you really want to do this the hard way, we can. I'll talk to a lawyer and get the courts to order a paternity test. It's time-consuming, and it's kind of a hassle, but whatever. We'll play it your way."

Carlisle stalked forward and snatched the paper out of Edward's hand. He found a pen on his desk and scribbled his signature, shoving the document at his son.

_His son. Fuck._

"Get out," he said icily.

Edward practically glowed. "Thanks!" he said brightly, straightening again. "I'll see you around campus, huh, Pop?" He strode to the door, but stopped and turned in the door frame. "Oh, and Dad? For Christmas . . . I want a puppy." He gave him one more brilliant smile and then disappeared into the hallway.

Carlisle slumped down onto the desk where Edward had just been sitting. He looked defeated, and much, much older than his forty-three years.

I cleared my throat, fighting back nausea. "You have a son?"

"It's not what it looks like," he said softly.

"Oh really?" I demanded, hot tears stinging my eyes. "Because it looks like you have a _son_, Carlisle! It looks like you've been lying to me for as long as I've known you."

"I didn't lie to you," he snapped. "Edward is not a part of my life—I've never even met him before today. I didn't tell you I had a son because it wasn't relevant."

"You weren't honest with me," I shot back. "You told me you didn't want kids, not that you didn't want _your_ kids."

"It doesn't change anything. He won't be attending this school. I'll see to it that neither of us ever has to see him again."

I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. The walls around me, blurred by tears, suddenly felt too close. I didn't know why this hurt so much, but it _really_ did. "I have to go," I said weakly.

"No!" He leapt up from the desk and crossed the room in two strides, grabbing me by the arm. "Bella, don't leave. Please."

The ache in my chest echoed the agony in his eyes, and more than ever I just wanted to escape.

"_Please_," he said again. "I can't lose you."

I shook my head quickly. "I—that's not what I meant. I just need . . . time."

"Bella, stay with me!"

"I'm not ready to talk to you about this," I said, swiping impatiently at my tears. "Anything you say, I'll just argue with. I need some time to figure out how I feel about everything."

"I need you," he said, looking tortured.

"Please let go."

With what looked like great effort, he released his grip, but then immediately wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest.

I wanted so badly to bury my head in his shoulder and pretend none of this had happened. I didn't want Carlisle to be _that_ guy. I wanted him to be the man who fed me dim sum and made picture frames with me . . . not the man who abandoned his family.

I really needed to go.

"I'll call you later," I said, pushing against his chest.

"When?"

"Tonight," I said. "I promise, I'll call you tonight."

He reluctantly loosened his grip and brought one hand up between us, wrapping it lightly around my neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, lightly caressing my throat, then dropped his hand and took a step back.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him that everything was all right . . . except it wasn't. I wanted to reassure him that this wasn't it for us, but I wasn't really sure. So I just turned without a word and strode out of the room.

It wasn't until I reached the parking lot that I remembered I had ridden to campus with Carlisle that morning. So either I had to go back inside and ask him to drive me home, or I had to figure out how close I could get to my apartment with a bus. I pulled my phone from my pocket and was wiping away my tears so I could see the screen clearly when I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. The sleek machine rolled up beside me, and the figure astride it reached up and pulled off his helmet, revealing messy bronze hair and bright green eyes.

_Terrific_.

"You okay, cutie?" Edward asked, looking genuinely concerned.

I bristled at the nickname. "I'm fine."

He sighed and tucked his helmet under his arm. "It's Bella, right?"

I nodded dumbly. I was pissed as hell at him, but I couldn't quite figure out if I had a right to be.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"Not from you."

For a moment he had the nerve to look injured, but then he grinned impishly. "I deserved that," he said. "I admit, I may not have been on my best behavior back there."

"Uh huh." I started to walk away, but he followed, keeping pace easily as he walked the motorcycle along beside me.

"Aw, come on, don't be mad," he wheedled. "I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't even know anybody else was going to be there. His T.A. said he was coming back before he left for the day, so I waited for him."

"So you only intended to hurt one person?" I snapped. "I guess that makes it okay."

He smirked at me. "Tell you what? Why don't you hop on the back here, and you can bitch me out for it while I drive you home."

I stopped and turned to him, crossing my arms over my chest. "Why?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why what?"

"Why do you want to take me home?"

"Because it looks like you don't have a ride," he said innocently.

"So? Why do you care what happens to me?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know, maybe I'm feeling guilty. I was an asshole, and now I'm apologizing for it."

"Fine, you're forgiven. Go away." I turned and started walking again, hoping he would give up and leave.

No such luck.

"Will you just let me take you home?" he persisted.

"No."

"Please? Come on, if I just take off and leave you here, I'm going to be wondering all night whether you're like, getting mugged in an alley or something."

"That'd be just my luck," I muttered.

"Aw, see? I can't leave you here. If you ride with me you'll get home faster, plus you'll get the chance to tell me off. It's a win-win."

I sighed heavily. I knew it was reckless, but I was feeling angry and frustrated, and those seemed to be emotions that were conducive to recklessness. I snatched the helmet out of his hands and put it on, and he grinned brightly as he helped me adjust it. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and threw it around me, and I accepted it for the protection it offered, despite the sweltering Los Angeles heat.

Edward guided me onto the motorcycle behind him and half-turned toward me. "Where to?"

I gave him directions to my house, and he nodded.

"Help me along the way," he told me. "I'm kind of new to the city. I don't know the streets yet."

I promised I would, and he faced forward again, pulling my arms around his waist. "Hang on tight!" he called over his shoulder. "You're too pretty to end up as road rash!"

I tightened my grip, trying not to notice how hard his stomach muscles were under my arms, as he eased the motorcycle toward the street. I glanced back, and my stomach dropped when I saw Carlisle standing in the doorway of the Ford building, keys in hand, looking devastated.

"So let's have it!" Edward yelled back over the road noise. "Lecture me for my bad behavior!"

"Can you even hear me?"

"Not really. Which is why now is the perfect time for you to get it out of your system!"

I rolled my eyes and focused on helping him remember how to get to my apartment. When we were about a block away, I gestured for him to pull over. He did, and I swung my leg over the bike, stepping onto the curb.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I pulled the helmet off and held it out to him. "This is close enough. I can walk from here."

He gave me a reproachful look. "What kind of guy would I be if I didn't make sure you got all the way home, safe and sound?"

"The kind of guy who doesn't know where I live," I said pointedly. He hadn't taken the helmet yet, so I set it on the seat behind him and tugged off his coat.

"Get back on the bike," he said impatiently.

"Thanks for the ride." I tossed his jacket to him and started off down the sidewalk."

"What if there's a crazed serial killer somewhere between here and your house?" Edward asked. He gathered his helmet and jacket under one arm and followed slowly along beside me.

"How do I know _you're_ not the crazed serial killer?"

"Well . . . 'cause look at me," he said, flashing me a smile. "I'm charming."

"Ted Bundy was charming."

"Okay, but was Ted Bundy in the Peace Corps?"

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me that _you_ were?"

"Yeah, look." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet, then flipped it open and fished out an ID card. He handed it to me, and I examined it. It was, indeed, a Peace Corps ID card, with his picture in the upper right hand corner and bold lettering listing his assigned region as, "Africa: Angola."

_Angola._

I stared at the card in shock. _Edward_ was the person Carlisle had been checking up on every morning? He couldn't be. If Carlisle had been that worried about Edward, he should have been thrilled to see him come home.

None of this made any sense.

"I know, right?" Edward laughed. "I can't believe I signed up either. I was actually supposed to be there another six months, but my assignment got cut short." He reached out and took the ID, then threw his jacket at me. "That's irrefutable evidence that I'm a good guy. I'm all idealistic and shit."

I put his coat back on and accepted the helmet, tugging it over my head once more. "If you kill me, I'm coming back as a zombie and eating your brains," I warned as I scooted behind him again.

"Duly noted."

I directed him the short distance to my parking lot and slid off of the motorcycle again.

"Hey, Bella?" he said as I shed his helmet and jacket once again. "Ask me inside."

"Yeah, right."

"Come on, please? I just want to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because you seem nice," he said with a crooked smile.

"Sure," I scoffed. "At what point during this entire conversation have I been nice to you?"

"I didn't say you were _being_ nice," he grinned. "But I bet you usually are, because you suck at being mean."

"Yeah, thanks a lot." I turned and headed toward my door, but Edward called my name again.

I stopped, but kept my back to him. "What?" I asked irritably.

"Let me come in for a little while," he said, jogging to my side. "Please? I'm a good guy, remember? Peace Corps and all?"

I frowned at him. "Why do you want to come in?"

His confident demeanor faltered a little, and for a moment he just looked sad. "Because I just met my father for the first time in my life, and he told me he never wanted to see me again," he said. "I want to talk to somebody, but I don't know anyone in the city, and if I call my mom she'll be hurt because I came here as soon as I was stateside again, instead of going home." He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "Besides, it's hot as hell in this fucking city. Does Los Angeles have a different _sun_ than the rest of the world?"

I glared at him, beyond pissed that he had swayed me once again. "You should sell vacuum cleaners," I grumbled as I beckoned him toward the door.

His brilliant smile returned, and he followed me eagerly into my apartment.

"Have a seat," I said grudgingly, gesturing toward the living room. I stopped in the kitchen and grabbed us a couple of Cokes, then joined him on the couch.

He accepted his drink with a smile and looked around appreciatively. "This is a nice apartment."

A laugh burst out of my throat, and I looked at him incredulously. "Thanks, but you really don't have to lie to me. This place is shit."

"Hey, I'm still getting used to having running water again," he grinned as he cracked open his Coke. "And sleeping without a net around my bed. And Starbucks."

"How long have you been back?"

"Two weeks," he said. "And you know what I haven't had yet? Ice cream!" He groaned and let his head fall back onto the back of the couch. "I've _missed_ ice cream."

I chewed at my lip, glancing toward the kitchen. "You like Ben and Jerry's?"

He moaned again. "Ben and Jerry. My long lost friends. . . ."

"Don't tattle on me," I told him, moving to the kitchen and fishing a pint of Chunky Monkey out of the freezer. "If Carlisle found out I raided his stash for you, he'd probably start withholding sex."

Edward beamed at me as I brought him the ice cream and a spoon, and he eagerly dug into it. "Your secret is safe with me. You want some?" He scooped up a bite and held it out to me.

My stomach gave a painful jolt. "Um, no," I winced, wrapping my arms around myself. "Thanks, I'm good."

Edward shrugged and turned his attention back to his ice cream. "So you're fucking my dad, huh?"

"Apparently."

"Why?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Pardon me?"

"Why are you sleeping with him? You want a free ride through his class? He's on your thesis committee? What?"

"Thank you," I said tersely. "That's very flattering."

"Aw, come on, I didn't mean it like that," he said around a mouthful of Chunky Monkey. "It's just, like I said, you seem nice. Why else would you be with a bastard like him?"

"Do you want to leave?" I demanded.

"Can I take the ice cream with me?"

"No."

He smirked. "Then no, I don't want to leave."

"Behave yourself, then," I warned. "Besides, I'm pretty sure _you're_ the bastard in this little scenario."

He snickered and shoveled another bite of ice cream into his mouth.

"I'm with him because I care about him," I said, answering his question. "I know you don't want to believe that there's anything good about him, but you're wrong."

"Why do you think I don't want to believe there's anything good about him?" he asked defensively.

"Because if you had been at all open-minded about him, that little scene in his office would have gone a lot differently."

Edward gave me a speculative look. "Okay. So convince me he's a good guy."

"I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like wasting my time," I said impatiently. "Nothing I say will change your mind, so why bother?"

He licked his spoon clean before answering me. "Look, I'm working from limited information here. What I know about him is that he walked out on my mom when she was eight months pregnant and neither of us has heard from him since. No phone calls, no birthday cards, and not a fucking dime of child support. So yeah, I think he's a bad guy. If you know something I don't, enlighten me."

I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. "He's lonely."

"Ted Bundy was lonely," Edward shot back with a grin.

I couldn't fight the smile, so I just gave in. "I'm pretty sure Carlisle's not a serial killer," I said. "He's had plenty of opportunities to murder me, and he hasn't done it yet."

"So he's lonely and not a serial killer," Edward said with a nod. "What else?"

"He loves Ben and Jerry's," I said. "And eating is a social activity for him. He always shares everything."

Edward looked thoughtfully down at his spoon. "No kidding?"

"He's a great teacher, too, from what I hear. His students all love him. But he's got these hilarious absent-minded tendencies, and it drives him crazy if you move anything on his desk." I arched an eyebrow at him. "So, you know . . . strike one, Junior. You shouldn't have touched his desk."

He slouched down and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "I read his books. They're good. He comes across all earnest and interesting . . . I guess I thought that's how he would be when I met him."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't really know what that was all about. I do know his home life was pretty bad when he was growing up, and he has an aversion to kids."

"Kids?" he snorted. "Bella, how old are you?"

"Twenty," I admitted.

"You're younger than me, but apparently he doesn't have a problem with _you_."

I stared miserably at my hands. "I'm sorry," I said again.

Edward poked at his ice cream. "What else?"

I shrugged. "After I broke up with my ex, he helped me find this apartment."

"And that's a good thing?" he asked. "I thought you said this place was shit."

"Yeah, well, it's all I can afford," I smiled. "And my options were limited. Anyway, this place has its perks."

"Yeah?"

I nodded. "They only charge me for my half of the rent, even though I don't have a roommate. The contracts are all separate."

"You live here alone, then?"

"Technically," I said. "Though I figure I'll probably have a roommate by the time the next quarter starts."

"What do you mean, technically?"

I tightened my arms around my knees. "Carlisle stays here a lot."

"Doesn't he have his own place?"

"He does," I said. "It's just farther away from campus. This is more convenient."

"So you're not just fucking my dad, you're practically living with him."

I nodded.

"And you're sure you're not trying to get a grade out of this?"

I glared at him. "Do you want to wear that ice cream?"

"_Touchy_," he smirked. He pulled an iPhone out of his pocket and held it up between us. He pressed a button, and the logo on the back of it flashed.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking your picture," he said casually. "You know, so I can blog about the co-ed who's fucking my absentee father. It'll be all emo and shit. The masses will just eat it up."

I rolled my eyes.

"Here, take one with me," he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

"Fine," I grumbled. "Whatever."

He held the phone at arm's length and smiled brightly. "Say cheese."

I gave the phone my best attempt at a smile. Edward held his thumb over the button, but before I knew what was happening he was covering my mouth with his, and the Apple logo was flashing again.

"Edward!" I snapped, shoving him off of me. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"I'm making memories," he smiled happily.

I stood and pointed toward the door. "Out."

"Aw, Bella, don't be mad," he protested, still grinning. "It was just a kiss! I didn't mean any harm."

"Bullshit. Get out."

"Okay," he agreed happily, gathering up his things. "But I'm taking the ice cream. And your spoon."

I glared murderously as I followed him to the door and slammed it behind him.

"I'll see you around, Bella!" he called from the other side, and I groaned.

I slunk back to the couch and fell on top of it, burying my face in the cushions. I was an absolute idiot for ever accepting a ride home with Carlisle's son. Hell, I was an idiot when I accepted a ride home from _Carlisle_ a couple of months ago. What was it about the men in that family that completely obliterated my instinct for self-preservation?

But at least Edward was gone, and there was minimal damage. Even if he started spreading that picture around, I wasn't too worried. Carlisle kissed Esme, I kissed Edward . . . that ship had pretty much sailed with us. I would call him tonight and explain what happened, and that would be that.

I wanted to call him now. I was aching for a connection with him, but I still didn't know how I felt about everything. He could mince words all he wanted, but the fact was, not telling me he had a son was a lie. A big one.

And who was Edward's mother? My first instinct was to say it was Esme, but Edward claimed that his mother hadn't seen Carlisle since he had left her. According to Carlisle, he had seen Esme five years ago, so it couldn't be her.

It didn't really matter that much, though. At some point in his past, Carlisle had accidentally gotten someone pregnant, and now he had a son he didn't want. That was easy enough to understand, but what I couldn't stomach was the fact that he hadn't taken responsibility for his actions. That wasn't like him. I could imagine him giving up custody, but refusing to pay child support?

There was something I was missing. Something Carlisle could probably fill in for me, honestly, but I wondered if he would. He had opened up to me once or twice, but even the information he had revealed had been slightly cryptic. Would he be willing to tell me enough about this situation that I would understand why he had abandoned his family?

And did I even have a right to ask? Once again, the agreement that we had made to keep things casual had come back to bite me in the ass. He probably hadn't wanted a serious relationship because he didn't want to have to answer questions like these.

_Fuck._

Nothing was making sense. I had a thousand fragments of the truth, but I got the feeling that there were a million more. Fears and speculations chased each other around my brain, making me feel dizzy and nauseated.

And I missed Carlisle. That, at least, I could wrap my head around. I was upset, and the only thing I wanted to do was curl up in his arms and let him comfort me. I wanted to work through this with him. But did that make me a loyal girlfriend, or just a doormat?

I _really_ didn't want to be a doormat. I knew I let Carlisle get away with a lot, but where was the line? When was I supposed to demand information about the parts of his life that had nothing to do with me? How much should he be allowed to keep private?

The emotional stress of the last hour was taking its toll on me, and I snuggled down into the couch cushions. I was just starting to drift off to sleep when I heard a key slide into the lock. My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered immediately if it was Carlisle or Jacob on the other side of the door. I was happy either way; I just needed to talk to someone. I pushed myself up on my elbow, rubbing my eyes sleepily, and looked up just as the door swung open to admit Edward.

My elbow buckled, and I tumbled off of the couch.

"Hey!" Edward greeted me happily. "Did you miss me?"

"How the hell did you get a key to my apartment?" I demanded from the floor, too surprised to get up.

His smile widened. "Well," he said, "it's customary for landlords to give their tenants keys when they move in."

It took several seconds for his words to sink in, and my eyes grew progressively wider as each one passed. "What did you do?" I whispered.

He held up his keys and jingled them in the air. "Welcome me home, Bella. I'm your new roommate."


	18. Reap the Whirlwind

********Thank you to everyone who voted in the Gem Awards! Original Sin tied for Best Work-in-Progress and Best All-Human, and won Best Non-Canon and Best Lemon. And Original Sin's banner, made by the illustrious IllicitWriter, won Best Banner. So thank you very, very much!********

********Happy Nevada Day, everyone! (Oh, and happy Halloween, too.)********

********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.********

* * *

><p><strong>18. Reap the Whirlwind<strong>

"You manipulative son of a bitch!"

I struggled to my feet, glaring at the grinning figure in the doorway, holding up a set of keys to _my_ apartment.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"What?" Edward asked, feigning innocence. "I brought back your spoon." He fished in the pocket of the jacket over his arm and held it up smiling brightly.

"What is _wrong _with you?" I demanded. "Don't you get it? I don't want you here! _Nobody_ wants you here! Your own father threw you out of his office, and I'm starting to understand why he did!"

Edward's smile fell, and he looked stricken. "Wow," he said softly. "You know how I said you weren't very good at being mean? I was wrong." He threw the spoon on the table and headed for the hallway. "I think I can figure out which room is mine on my own."

The expression on his face made me hurt, and knowing that I had put it there made me hurt worse. It didn't make any sense at all to be feeling sorry for a complete asshole, but I was pathetic like that. Renee always said I had a soft spot for the underdog.

Except Edward was _not_ the underdog here. He was playing this situation to his advantage, and I wasn't happy about it.

This shit was not going to fly.

I stormed out of my apartment and headed straight for the residence office, but after twenty minutes of vehement arguing, I hadn't made any progress. The fact was, they reserved the right to fill the space in my apartment with anyone they chose, regardless of any conflicts of interest it might cause with the USC faculty, unless he posed a clear danger to me. And they wouldn't move him to a different apartment without his permission.

I was just going to have to make him give his permission. I stomped back to my apartment in a rage and pounded on his bedroom door.

Edward swung it open almost immediately, his glowing smile back on his face. "Hey, Bella, come on in." He stepped back and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "I assume you've come to apologize?"

"_Apologize?_ Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You were very rude to me," he said rationally. "The socially-acceptable thing to do here is to tell me you're sorry and ask for my forgiveness."

He was _not_ going to distract me. "Move out," I demanded.

He spread his hands helplessly. "I can't. I signed a contract."

"There are like ten other available apartments that you can switch to. Pick one and move the fuck _out!_"

He leaned against his doorframe, looking at me speculatively. "You're not very good at getting along with roommates. Only child?"

"This is not a joke!" I yelled. "You can't live here, Edward!"

"Look, this is happening, so just come to peace with it."

"Why?" I demanded, tears of frustration pricking at my eyes. "I never did anything to you! Why are you punishing me?"

"I'm not punishing you." He pushed off of the doorjamb and moved past me into the living room. "I came here with one goal. I want information about the sperm donor. You know him, you're close to him, and he visits you frequently, which means I'm not going anywhere." He flopped down on the couch and grabbed the television remote off of the end table.

"What makes you think he'll visit me when you're here?"

He frowned at the TV. "How come it's not working?"

"It hasn't worked since the earthquake," I said irritably. "The management hasn't gotten around to replacing it yet."

"Huh." He tossed the remote aside. "I guess we'll just have to entertain ourselves another way." He grinned at me and patted the cushion next to him suggestively.

"Move out," I begged. "Please? It's not like he'll even come here if you're living here. We'll just end up staying at his place."

"So I'll basically have the apartment to myself, huh? Nice."

"What do I have to do?" I asked desperately.

"Hmmm. . . ." He rubbed his chin exaggeratedly. "Nope, there's nothing you can do. Sorry."

My very traitorous brain considered offering him the file that Rosalie's friend had collected as leverage to get him out of my apartment, but I quickly dismissed that idea. That was something I had no right to know, and there was no way in hell I was going to share it with the vindictive asshole occupying my couch.

Instead, I stalked over to the closet and started pulling boxes out of the top of it.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked curiously.

"Packing," I snapped. "If you won't switch apartments, that means I have to."

He looked stung. "You can't be serious."

I stopped and glared at him. "How could you possibly think I'm not serious? Has there been some kind of miscommunication here? Have I done _anything_ to give you the impression that I can accept this situation?"

He clenched his teeth and glared at me. "All right, go ahead. Move. I'll just convince whoever you move in with to switch with me."

I threw up my hands, letting out a frustrated growl. "What the hell do you _want_ from me, Edward? I can't fix you! Living with me isn't going to change the fact that you never had anybody to play catch with when you were a kid!"

He frowned. "You're being mean again."

"And you're throwing stones from a glass house."

"Hey," he said defensively, "I have _not_ been mean to you. I've been pushy and manipulative, and I've even been kind of obnoxious, but I haven't been mean."

"Oh, really?" I challenged. "Then why did you take that picture?"

He shrugged. "Seemed like a good thing to have in my pocket. It might come in handy sometime."

"_Why are you doing this?_" I yelled in frustration.

He leveled a dark gaze on me. "Because I've spent my entire life living with the knowledge that my father didn't want me. Do you know what that does to a person?"

I didn't know. Not at all. I might not have seen much of my dad when I was younger, but he had never made me feel like he didn't want me. If anything, I had always felt a little guilty about not giving him more time. A month every summer wasn't really all that much.

"No," I said quietly.

Edward softened a little. "I didn't come here to hurt anybody. I just want to know him."

I stuffed the boxes back up in the top of the closet and moved back to the couch, slumping down beside him. "I don't believe you," I said tiredly.

"Why not?"

"Because you haven't done a single thing to make me think you're not a total douche."

He looked at me for a long moment, and then pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. He showed me the picture he had taken of him kissing me, and he deleted it.

"There," he said. "My first non-douchey act as your roommate."

"Did you email yourself copy first?" I snapped.

"No." He shook his head solemnly. "It's gone, I swear. No incriminating photos."

"Thank you," I muttered, staring at the blank television screen.

"So, do you want to go out with me tonight?"

"You're being a douche again."

"Sorry."

A few moments passed in silence, neither one of us looking at each other, before Edward sighed.

"Look, we have to live with each other—"

"We don't _have_ to," I interrupted.

"Okay, we're _going_ to live with each other," he corrected, "so we should at least try to be comfortable. Tell me about yourself. What's your major?"

"English."

He cocked his head to the side, looking perplexed. "Why?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because I like it."

"Well, sure, but what are you going to _do_ with it? Just wander around speaking English for the rest of your life?"

"Maybe I'll join the Peace Corps," I snapped.

Edward snickered. "You can try, but they usually want people with skills that are actually, you know, useful."

My curiosity overpowered my irritation with him. "What did you do?"

"I taught no-tillage farming to subsistence farmers."

"What's no-tillage farming?"

He grinned. "It's kind of complicated, but it's a method that preserves soil integrity. It keeps them from having to import so much fertilizer, and it reduces the carbon footprint."

"And you knew about that before you joined?"

He nodded. "My step-dad's company does the same thing here in the States. I used to work for him."

"How long were you in Angola?"

"A year and a half. It was supposed to be two years, but things got kind of dicey."

"What things?"

He made a face. "There was a radical political group causing problems. The Corps actually pulled us out about three months ago and put us up at the embassy for a few days. We thought we were going home then, but things settled down, so they sent us back out again."

"Really?" I asked, my interest piqued. "What was the embassy like?"

"Crowded," he laughed. "There were a lot of us there. We had four people sharing this room with just one bed. I opted for the floor, but I swear there wasn't any padding under that carpet. It wasn't the most comfortable I've ever been."

"Yeah, well, enjoy the carpet padding in your room," I said. "That mattress is disgusting."

"No kidding." He grimaced. "I'm sleeping in your room tonight."

"Like hell you are."

Edward patted my shoulder and hauled himself to his feet. "I've got things to do," he said. "I need to go rent a car so I can haul my stuff back here."

It was on the tip of my tongue to offer my truck, but I held myself back. I didn't want to do anything that might indicate to Edward that I was actually okay with him moving in. "Have fun."

"I'll have more fun when I get back home to you," he winked.

I rolled my eyes at him.

As soon as he disappeared out the door, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Carlisle.

"Bella?" he said anxiously, answering before the first ring had even finished.

I sighed, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders at the sound of his smooth, warm voice. "Hi," I said softly.

"Are you at home?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah," I assured him. We had a million things to talk about, but I was suddenly reluctant to get to them. I just wanted to connect with him again. "I miss you."

He blew out a breath that it sounded like he had been holding. "I miss you too, angel."

I took a deep breath, deciding just to tackle the issue head-on. "Carlisle, why didn't you tell me about Edward?"

"He's not. . . ." He stopped, then tried again. "I've never been a father to the boy, Bella. I didn't tell you about him because the two of us have never had anything to do with one another."

"You say that like it's supposed to make things better."

"It was a long time ago," he said firmly, "and it was a mistake. I wasn't careful, and now I have a son, but I was no more capable of being a father then than I am now."

"Capable or not, you _are_ a father. And Edward's got it into his head that he's going to get to know you."

"That's not an option," he said flatly.

I rubbed my forehead wearily, just as my call-waiting beeped. I quickly checked the screen and saw Jacob's name, but I let it go to voice mail. I could call him back when I was done talking to Carlisle.

"He's going to be hard to discourage," I said. "He's kind of stubborn—which could easily be a trait he gets from his father, by the way."

"Don't," he said sharply. "Don't try to make him like me, he's not—" he stopped, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "He's not like me."

I hunched my shoulders protectively, feeling miserable. I had really wanted this to go differently. I wanted Carlisle to have some good reason, some explanation as to why he had left his family—as though any excuse could ever be good enough. But I at least thought talking to him would make me understand.

It didn't, though. Apparently, Carlisle had simply left because he didn't want his son. What I had to decide was whether I could accept that. I honestly didn't know. I didn't like it, obviously, but then, Carlisle had always told me that he was no saint. Irredeemable, in fact, was what he had called himself. But if he felt so guilty about it, why not fix it? Why hadn't he at least taken responsibility for his actions and paid child support? I remembered the days when that check was all that had gotten mom and me through. In fact, since I had been the one to watch the budget and pay the bills for most of my life, I knew _exactly_ how important that money was.

Could I accept this?

I sighed heavily, putting a pin in that question for a minute. "Carlisle, there's something I have to tell you."

He hesitated. "I'm listening."

"Well, first of all . . . Edward kissed me."

My declaration was met with silence.

"I didn't know he was going to do it," I explained, "and I'm pretty sure he only did it to make trouble, because he took a picture of it."

"Edward . . . took a picture of you two. . . ."

"It's not a big deal," I insisted. "I'm telling you because I don't want there to be secrets between us, but it's not a thing. He says he deleted the picture, but I'm not sure I believe him." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Or, well, I _do_ believe him, but I'm not sure I should."

He was silent again.

"Don't, please," I begged. "Don't turn this into a big deal. I didn't want him to do it, and I made that _very_ clear to him. I just didn't want you to think you had any reason not to trust me if the photo turned up in your inbox."

"Are you still with him?"

I chewed at my lip. "No, but . . . there's kind of a situation."

My call waiting beeped again, and a quick glance at the screen told me it was Jacob again.

"Carlisle, can you hang on a second?" I asked, at once frustrated and relieved at the interruption. "Jacob keeps calling. I need to see what he wants."

"I can wait."

I clicked over to the other line. "Jacob?"

"No, it's Rachel," came the answer. Her voice was trembling, and she sounded like she was crying. "Bella, I need help."

"What's wrong?" I asked in alarm.

"I'm bleeding," she choked out. "And my stomach keeps cramping really bad. It hurts." She let out a sob. "I think I need to go to the hospital, but nobody's home and Paul isn't answering his phone."

"Shit," I whispered, leaping up off of the couch. "Hang on, Rach, I'll be right there. Just lie down and try to relax, okay? I'll get there as soon as I can." I grabbed my purse and darted out the door, barely pausing to lock it behind me.

"Hurry," she whimpered.

"I will, I promise.

She hung up and I clicked back to Carlisle as I was climbing into my truck.

"Carlisle, I'm sorry, I have to go," I said. "I have to get Rachel to the hospital."

"Will you call me later?" he asked.

"Later, or maybe tomorrow, depending on how long this takes."

He cleared his throat softly. "Would you rather I not come tonight, then?"

"Um." _Shit_. With Edward there, no, of course he couldn't come—at least not until I had told him about that whole mess. But I didn't have time to handle that right now. "No," I said. "Not tonight. But I'll call you."

He didn't answer me, and I fretted over his silence as I pulled my truck out of the lot.

"Please don't be mad," I begged. "Everything's just a big mess, and I can't focus. I have to go."

"Of course," he said quietly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, then."

"Carlisle," I said quickly, before he could hang up. "I'm sorry. . . . I shouldn't have left with him."

"No. You shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"Go help your friend. We'll talk about this when you have more time."

The drive to Compton was nerve-wracking. My mind jumped from Rache,l to Carlisle, to Edward, and back to Rachel, in chaotic, fragmented thoughts. I was feeling powerless, unable to hold everything together while the world spun out of control around me.

I didn't bother knocking when I got to the house, knowing that Rachel was the only one there. I used my key to let myself inside, and found her lying in the bathtub wearing only a shirt, her eyes red and puffy. The dry ceramic beneath her smeared with tiny trickles of blood.

I tried not to panic at the sight of it. Rachel didn't need me going all weak-kneed on her. "Let's get you cleaned up," I said with forced casualness, trying not to look at the blood or breathe through my nose. I found a washcloth in the cabinet and wetted it in the sink, then helped Rachel to her feet. There really wasn't very much blood, and I gently scrubbed it away while she steadied herself on my shoulder. When she was clean I found a maxi pad for her under the sink and retrieved some pants and underwear for her.

If this had been anyone but a Black, it would have been horribly embarrassing. But like Jacob, Rachel had been my friend for as long as I could remember, and this wasn't the first time I'd seen her without pants.

"Let's go," I urged, helping her out of the bathroom. She retrieved her purse with her insurance information, and I took her outside and helped her into the truck.

"I don't want to lose my baby," she sobbed over and over again, all the way to the hospital.

I rubbed her hand and tried to reassure her, but there wasn't much I could say. I didn't know what was happening any better than she did.

Thankfully, the emergency room wasn't very busy when we got there. They were ready for her by the time we finished filling out the paperwork. I followed her back to a curtained-off exam area and held her hand while she explained her symptoms to the doctor.

Rachel was put on an IV and given muscle relaxants, and then we waited. The doctor wanted to see how she responded, and that meant sitting back and letting the treatment work.

I tried to call Paul several times, but it wasn't until after his shift ended that he got any of the messages. He rushed to the hospital as fast as he could and took my place by Rachel's side, offering her murmured words of reassurance and encouragement, and doing a much better job of calming her than I had done.

I squeezed her knee and slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. I took advantage of the break and called Emily's phone, since Jacob obviously didn't have his, to let everyone know what was happening. Jacob had gotten home while we were in the emergency room, and he came out to meet us immediately, joining me in the waiting room.

And we waited. Jacob paced, I fidgeted. Jacob grumbled, I drank a lot of coffee. Neither of us wanted to talk about the possibilities, so we just didn't talk.

It was late when Paul and Rachel finally emerged. Jacob had been sprawled out across several of the plastic chairs with his head in my lap, and he sat up so fast that he knocked half of them over.

"What happened?" he asked anxiously, pushing himself to his feet. "Is the baby okay?"

"She is for now," Rachel said with a weak smile.

"She?" Jacob asked. "It's a girl?"

Rachel's smile grew a little, and she nodded. "But the doctor says I'm supposed to stay off my feet as much as I can, so I don't go into preterm labor."

Jacob huffed. "I _knew_ you were going to find a way to get out of your night for dishes. This is so unfair." But he was grinning as he moved to give his sister a hug.

"Come on, baby, let's get you home," Paul said, kissing the top of her head. "Thanks for everything, Bella."

I nodded as the two of them headed out to the parking lot, lingering behind with Jacob.

"So . . ." he said. "Today sucked."

"No kidding," I muttered.

He gave me a one-armed hug and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm heading home. I have to work early tomorrow."

For just a moment I considered holding him back and unloading on him, but that wasn't fair. He had enough to worry about, and he needed sleep. I just nodded a goodbye and watched him walk away. I pulled out my phone and made my way to my own car, composing a text to Carlisle.

_Heading home now. Exhausted. Talk tomorrow?_

His answer came back while I was driving, and I read it at a red light.

_I'll be waiting._

I chewed at my lip as I considered his message. That was the second time today he had told me he would wait on me. Up until now, I had always assumed Carlisle had one foot out the door, and as soon as things got tough he would disappear. This was tough. But he was still right there where I left him, waiting for me, wanting to work things out whenever I was ready.

Maybe we were stronger than I thought.

Edward was still up when I got home, listening to his iPod on the couch, and he looked a little relieved when I walked in.

"Hey," he said softly, tugging the ear buds out of his ears.

"Hi." I gave him an uncertain wave, unsure of what to say to him.

"Out looking for a new apartment?" he asked with a sad smile.

I gave him a long look, trying to figure out if there was some veiled motive behind his question. "Not yet." I started to toss my purse on the table, but then thought better of it and gripped it tighter. I wasn't about to leave my personal things around so he could go nosing through them.

"How bad did I piss you off?" he asked.

"Pretty bad."

"Is there any chance you'll forgive me?"

"Is there any chance you'll do something to make it right?"

"I brought you flowers," he said with a hopeful look, gesturing toward the kitchen.

I glanced into the kitchen to see a bright bouquet of irises and stargazer lilies sitting on the counter. I thought about saying something catty, like I was allergic to lilies, but I just didn't have it in me to be mean anymore today.

"They're nice."

Edward set his iPod aside and stood up, moving to stand in front of me. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I know this is inconvenient for you, but I have to play any angle I can get. It's like pulling teeth trying to get any information on Cullen. Not even my own mother will help me out."

"I know the feeling," I sighed tiredly, sinking into a chair at the table.

Edward sat with me, looking curious. "What do you mean?"

"He's really private. I had no idea you even existed."

"Yeah," he said glumly. "I noticed that."

"It's not just you. I don't know _anything_. He doesn't talk about stuff in his past, and it bothers him when I ask. With Carlisle, you have to live in the moment."

He leaned back in his chair. "Have you had dinner?" he asked. "I saved some for you."

"You cooked?"

He smirked. "Don't look so surprised, Bella. I may not be good for much, but I can turn a few heads in the kitchen." He stood and fished around in the refrigerator, drawing out a Tupperware container. "I hope you don't mind that I used your dishes. I don't really have any of my own yet."

I shrugged, looking at the container with interest. I was starving. "What'd you make?"

"Rosemary skewered shrimp with sweet and sour tamarind sauce."

My jaw dropped. "You did not."

He laughed and started transferring them to a plate for me. "I like good food. And it's possible that I was trying to impress you." He brought the plate over and set it in front of me, giving me a dazzling smile. "I really want you to like me."

"Well . . . this is a good start," I said reluctantly, giving him a fake scowl.

He chuckled and sat down with me again as I started eating the obscenely delicious shrimp off of the sprigs of rosemary. The effect was almost overwhelming, and I let out a groan of pleasure. "Holy shit," I mumbled around the shrimp.

Edward grinned at my approval. "I knew you'd like it. So . . . tell me more about Cullen."

"Is this a bribe?" I asked.

"Absolutely."

I licked the sauce from my fingertips before going in for more. "He can't cook," I said. "Like, at all. I don't even trust him with the microwave."

"Really?" Edward asked. "So you do all the cooking?"

"Sometimes . . . damn, this shrimp is good."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing," he said impatiently. "When you don't cook, what do you do? Go out?"

"Or order in. He knows all the best places, because that's literally the only way he eats. His kitchen has cereal bars and coffee, and that's _all_."

"Oh, come on, that can't be all. He's got salt and pepper, right? Ketchup in the fridge?"

I shook my head. "Packets from the restaurants. He doesn't even need to ask, they all know what he wants. And most of them gave him a hard time when he started picking up meals for two instead of just one."

"What, so he's friends with the restaurant staff?"

I shrugged and popped another shrimp into my mouth. "As much as he's friends with anybody, I guess. People really like him, but it's hard to get close."

"So how'd you do it?"

"I don't know that I did, really," I admitted, chewing thoughtfully. "Sometimes it feels like he's a million miles away, even when he's right next to me."

Edward plucked a piece of shrimp off of my plate and slid it into his mouth, tugging out the Rosemary sprig and tossing it back.

I scowled at him and pushed the plate toward him. I _really_ wanted more of that shrimp, but I wasn't willing to share a plate with him to get it. Instead I got up and washed my hands in the kitchen sink.

"I'm going to bed," I said. "It's been a long day and I need sleep."

He looked a little thrown by my abruptness, but he didn't protest. "Sleep well," he said softly.

I dried my hands and headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I heard Edward sigh and flop down on the couch, but I didn't pay him any more attention after that. I was too tired. I put on some pajamas, slightly depressed that Carlisle wasn't there to take them back off of me again, and crawled into my empty bed.

It sucked. I didn't want to sleep alone in my bed, and I couldn't even take refuge on the couch because Edward was there. Stupid Edward. He was ruining everything, and on top of all that, he wasn't letting me make him the bad guy. Because honestly—and I would never admit it to anyone but myself—I kind of liked him. He was stubborn and manipulative, true, but he also seemed genuine, and sort of fun.

And I sympathized with him. If Charlie had refused to see me, how far would I have gone to find out information about him?

I fell into a fitful sleep, with images of father and son dancing around my head. In my dreams they were fighting, furious and feral, and when I woke up I worried that my dreams might be prophetic. Something told me I needed to keep the two of them as far apart as possible if I wanted to keep my life from coming apart at the seams.

I drifted awake at five o'clock, just long enough to feel miserable that Carlisle wasn't crawling out of bed and tugging his running shorts on, before sinking into sleep again. The next time I woke was at six, and again, I felt miserable knowing that Carlisle wasn't slipping back into the apartment, sweaty and winded. I considered getting up, but the apartment beyond my bedroom door felt exposed and unsafe. If I was out there, I might have to talk to Edward. He might be charming and funny, and I might enjoy his company. I didn't want to enjoy his company. It felt like betrayal.

So I stayed in bed, but I didn't sleep. I stared at the picture of Carlisle and me on the night stand, and I wallowed.

I hadn't even been sulking for a half an hour, though, when the doorbell rang. There was only one person in the world who would ring my doorbell at that hour, and a bubble of hope lightened my chest. I was so thrilled that I didn't even stop to think about what it implied that he hadn't used his key, and I scrambled out of bed, running a hand through my messy hair. My feet barely touched the floor as I scampered to the door and pulled it open.

Carlisle stood on the step, holding a bag with an Einstein Bros. logo and looking pensive and beautiful. I craved him so badly I could taste it, and I barely paused long enough to remind myself that I had morning breath before throwing my arms around him and kissing him again and again.

Closed-mouthed, of course. Because of the morning breath.

Carlisle walked me inside the door and deposited the bag on the table before wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly. Nothing in the world had ever felt so wonderful, and I sighed and sank into his embrace.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was stupid, and I should have just stayed with you. I have this whole situation to deal with now because I didn't, and I just . . . I just missed you."

He pulled back slightly, cupping my cheek in his hand. "I've missed you too, sweet girl."

"I just want to be with you, Carlisle," I said, clinging tightly to his body. "We'll work this out, right?"

"Of course." He kissed the top of my head. "That's why I'm here."

It wasn't until I heard Edward's bedroom door open that it hit me what a very bad situation this was, and by then it was too late to do anything about it. He staggered sleepily from the hall wearing cotton pajama pants and no shirt, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

"Who the fuck rings the doorbell at six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday?" he grumbled. He dropped his hand and peered at Carlisle through squinted eyes, then grinned. "Mornin', Pop."

Carlisle stared at him, looking sick.

"Shit," I hissed. "This is _so_ not what it looks like."

Carlisle dropped his hands and fell back a step, shaking his head as though to deny what he was seeing.

Edward moved to my side and draped an arm around my shoulders, suddenly all bright and perky. "I'm in the mood for pancakes. You guys want some?"

I shrugged off Edward's arm and grabbed Carlisle's hand. "Don't freak out," I said hurriedly. I knew I had to get him away from Edward, to remove the wedge that was forcing itself between us. I dragged him back outside and slammed the door behind us before Edward could do any more damage. "I know this looks bad, and it _is_ bad, just not . . . _that_ way."

Carlisle was grinding his teeth, his eyes boring into me. "He stayed here last night."

I licked my lips nervously. "Yeah . . . he sort of moved in."

His eyes widened, and his hand clenched painfully around mine. "And you didn't think that was something he might want to tell me?" he spat furiously.

"I was trying to tell you," I snapped back, his anger sparking my own. "I'm sorry, Carlisle, but I was interrupted by an emergency."

He squeezed his eyes shut, looking pained, and released my hand. "I can't do this," he said flatly. "It's over."

I fell like the floor had fallen out from under me. "What?" I whispered, barely able to force air out through my throat.

He clenched his jaw. "I'm sorry. I tried. It wasn't meant to be." He turned on his heel and stalked away.

For a few seconds, all I could do was stare at him. But as he neared his car it occurred to me that he was _leaving_ and I darted after him, heedless of the rocky pavement beneath my bare feet.

"Carlisle, don't go!" I begged. "We have to work this out." I grabbed his arm and pulled him back around to face me. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night. It's not like I was trying to keep it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you, and then Rachel. . . ."

He eased his arm from my grasp, turning away again. "It was a mistake from the beginning. I should have known better than to get involved in a relationship."

His words cut, and I swallowed back a sob. "Carlisle, please don't," I begged as he pulled open his car door. "Please. I—" I swallowed again, gathering the nerve to say the only thing that could possibly make me more vulnerable right now. "I love you."

He paused and looked back at me, his eyes veiled and emotionless. "You give your heart too easily," he said softly. "To men who don't deserve it." He turned away again, sliding into his car and pulling the door closed firmly behind him.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched him start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, his eyes studiously avoiding me. I slumped down into the parking space he had just vacated and pulled my knees to my chest, burying my head in them. Hot tears soaked through my pajama pants, and I knew I looked like a complete freak, but I didn't care. I felt like Carlisle had ripped me in half when he left, like if anyone looked closely enough, they would see the frayed, bleeding edges where I had been torn apart.

Edward appeared and sat down beside me on the gravel-strewn pavement. He placed a hand on my shoulder, but I jerked away sharply.

"This is your fault!" I sobbed angrily. "Why did you have to come here, Edward? Why couldn't you leave us alone?"

"I'm really sorry," he said sadly. "I thought he would get pissed off and yell at _me_. I didn't think he'd take it out on you."

I pushed myself to my feet and glared down at him. "Are you happy now?" I snapped. "You destroyed my relationship, and you're no closer to getting what you wanted."

"What can I do to fix it?" he asked earnestly.

"You can disappear," I said through my teeth. "You can go back home and leave us the fuck alone. _Nobody here wants you_." I turned and ran back inside as quickly as I could over the rough blacktop. I went straight to my room and locked the door before curling up on Carlisle's side of the bed and sobbing into his pillow.


	19. Brought to Desolation

********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.********

* * *

><p><strong>19. Brought to Desolation<strong>

I cried myself to sleep after Carlisle left, and woke up a couple of hours later feeling groggy and lost. I didn't want to accept that he was really gone, because I didn't know how to be without him anymore. How could I sit beside him and do my homework if he wasn't there to sit beside? Who would I laugh with when I came across something funny? Who would share insightful tidbits with me? Who would hold me and softly stroke my neck while we sat together in serene silence?

How could I live without those things?

I wandered out of my room, intending to head to the kitchen and make some coffee, but I stopped short in the doorway to the living room. Edward was sitting in the middle of the floor, with the television in front of him and various components from inside of it scattered around him. He was fiddling with something inside of the TV casing, and he didn't look up.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm fixing the television."

"Why?"

He shot me a dark glance before turning his attention back to his work. "I thought if I did something useful, you might not feel the need to keep reminding me that I'm not wanted."

Ugh. And I thought I couldn't feel any worse.

But I couldn't apologize. I just couldn't. I loved Carlisle so much it hurt, and Edward was the reason he wasn't here now, holding me, making love to me, putting everything back together again.

"He left me because of you," I said hollowly. "He came over to work things out with me, and when he saw you, he ended it. Just like that. I've never loved anyone like I love him, and you drove him away."

Edward looked stricken. "He left, like . . . he broke up with you?"

I nodded, impatiently wiping away a tear that I hadn't given permission to fall.

"Shit. I thought you were just fighting."

I shrugged, wrapping my arms around myself.

Edward's face pinched in pain as he bowed over the television set. His hands gripped the edges so tightly his knuckles went white. "I don't understand why he hates me so much."

I chewed at the inside of my cheek. I didn't know how to answer. I didn't even know how to feel.

"He left my mom because of me," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "They were happy together until she got pregnant. He's so determined not to have anything to do with me that he'll walk away from everyone he cares about to avoid me."

Another rogue tear escaped, and I brushed it away, trying not to sniffle. I didn't want to sympathize with him. I didn't want him to have a valid claim on my emotions. But as reluctant I was to admit it, he did. The two of us were hurting over the same man, devastated by his absence, and somehow that tied us together.

I moved to his side and shifted a couple of electronic parts out of the way before sitting down beside him. I leaned against his shoulder and stopped trying to hold back the tears. Edward wrapped an arm around me, laying his head on top of mine, and let me make a soggy mess of his T-shirt.

I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought it was possible that a couple of the shuddering sobs that shook us were his, and not mine.

We stayed there for a long time, until my tears ran dry and the ache in my chest subsided into a vague melancholy. Edward released me and lay back on the floor, grumbling and tugging a stray screwdriver out from underneath him.

"So," he said, giving me a half-hearted smile, "is this a truce, then?"

I pursed my lips. "Maybe a cease-fire."

"I'll take it."

I ran a hand through my messy hair. "Feel like raiding some more of Carlisle's Ben and Jerry's?" I asked miserably.

"I'll do you one better." He hauled himself to his feet and moved to the kitchen, tugging open the freezer. He pulled out a glass bottle and held it up. "Absolut Peppar. You want some?"

"You're right, that's a _much_ better idea." I stood and moved to help him.

"You have shot glasses?" he asked.

"Nope. But I have shooter glasses." I grabbed them out of the cupboard and held them up in front of him.

"Twice as nice."

I followed him back to the living room and we settled down in the middle of the debris from the television again. Edward filled the shooter glasses and took one from me, tapping it against mine. "To secrets, lies, and fucked up relationships," he said dryly.

"Right," I nodded. "To Carlisle."

He smirked and chugged his vodka, and I did the same, feeling the sharp burn deep in my throat.

"_Damn_," I winced. "That stuff really kicks, doesn't it?"

"That's why I like it." He filled both of our glasses again, but neither of us drank right away. The vodka was warm going down, and it was already starting to relax me a little.

"Do you think it's a problem that it's barely nine o'clock in the morning and we're already drinking?" I asked.

"Yep." He threw back half of his shooter and scooted back to lean against the coffee table. "I think we're well on our way to alcoholism."

I looked speculatively at my glass. "I should really be more careful. Last time I drank on an empty stomach, I ended up in bed with a woman."

Edward perked up, a smile lighting his face. "You did not."

"I did," I nodded ruefully. I told him about my drunken encounter with Rosalie as I sipped the spicy vodka, and Edward smiled goofily the whole time.

"That's a good story," he said dreamily when I finished. "Tell it again?"

I snickered and smacked his shoulder. "You tell one now. Did you have any kinky nights in Africa?"

He shook his head. "I always had to be pretty careful," he said. "I was the youngest guy around, so everybody kind of expected me to fuck shit up. I had to work twice as hard to prove myself."

"That sucks."

He shrugged. "Par for the course. I've been working twice as hard as everyone else my whole life."

"Why?" I held out my glass for a refill, and he obliged, topping off his own while he was at it.

"I don't know." He threw back his vodka, squeezing his eyes shut as he swallowed it down, and poured himself some more. "Maybe I thought it would bring my dad back. Maybe I was trying to make sure nobody else left me. Whatever. I just had to be the best at everything I did."

"Like what? Perfect grades?"

"Yeah, perfect grades, advanced placement classes, concurrent enrollment. But everything else too. Like piano. I was playing Rachmaninoff at eleven years old, composing by fourteen. Varsity baseball team as a freshman, all-state my junior and senior years. And of course, the Peace Corps."

"Overachiever," I muttered, chugging my vodka.

"Yep." He swirled the liquid in his half-empty glass. "Didn't do much good, though, did it? I'm still not good enough."

"God," I said, rolling my eyes. "Did anybody ever tell you you're a whiny-ass drunk? Give me some more."

"I should cut you off for that," he said with a scowl as he filled my glass again.

"You really should." I was feeling good and relaxed, to the point that every time I moved my head, the room tilted and wobbled. "I'm kind of a lightweight."

"In that case, that's mine." He took my glass before I could drink it and swallowed down the vodka before climbing unsteadily to his feet. "We need breakfast."

"I want quiche!" I declared.

Edward snickered. "Maybe another time. I'm a little too impaired to make a properly flaky crust right now."

"Psh. Whatever." I rolled my head back and stared up at the ceiling. "You're the overachiever. You could probably play your fancy piano music while you hit a home run and baked your perfect pastry crust, and still have enough attention to teach your little no-plow farming to citizens of war-torn countries."

"Huh," Edward said as he returned with a box of cereal and sat next to me again. "You really are a lightweight, aren't you?"

"Where the hell did you get cereal?" I asked, staring at the box in confusion.

"I bought it." He pulled out a handful and then tilting the box toward me. "I bought a lot of stuff. If you ever went in the kitchen you'd know that."

"Hm." I dug into the box and drew out my own handful. "Carlisle's habits must be rubbing off—oh, fuck, are these Honey Nut Cheerios?"

"Yep," he said, chewing happily. "My favorite."

"Mine too! Charlie and Billy used to buy the little individual packs for us when they took us out fishing."

"Who are Charlie and Billy?"

I launched into a description of my dad and his best friend, and my relationship with Billy's kids, and then Edward reciprocated by telling some of his own childhood stories. We traded back and forth, drinking, eating cereal from the box and relating our memories. We slowed down quite a bit on the liquor, but we still finished off the Absolut and made some good progress on the bottles of Tanqueray and Patrón that Edward produced from the cupboard. As the hours passed, we grew steadily less coherent, so we were good and plastered when the front door swung open and Jacob stepped inside.

Edward looked at him, puzzled. "Dude," he said. "Do we have another roommate?"

"Nope," I grinned lazily. "He's just a stray."

"How many people have keys to our apartment?"

"I have no idea. I'm pretty sure I forgot how to count." I considered standing up to greet Jacob, but I decided that would probably be hazardous to my health. Instead I pushed myself to my hands and knees and crawled over to him, wrapping my arms around his ankles and pillowing my head on his feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jacob asked, confused.

I giggled. "I'm sleeping on your shoes."

He looked back and forth between Edward and me before demanding, "Are you _drunk?_"

"Yes," Edward said solemnly. "Bella's been trying to get me all liquored up so she can take advantage of me."

"Who the hell _are_ you?"

"His name is Oedipus," I interrupted, then dropping to a loud whisper I added, "he has daddy issues."

"Hey," Edward said defensively. "At least I wasn't fucking someone twice my age. Daddy issues, anyone?"

"Bella, get up," Jacob said impatiently, reaching down to help me to my feet. The room tilted wildly, but Jacob held me against him, careful not to let me fall. "Why are you two in pajamas? And what the hell are you doing drinking at two o'clock?"

"It's two o' clock?" I gasped my eyes widening. I giggled and turned back to Edward, ignoring the way the walls shifted whenever I turned my head. "We've been drinking for _hours!_"

"Shit," Edward said, looking bewildered. He stared at the tequila bottle in his hands, and then shrugged and took another swig.

We had long ago given up on glasses.

"I'm going to try this again," Jacob said impatiently. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing getting Bella drunk at two o'clock in the afternoon?"

"I'm Edward," he answered. "Ed_ward_, not Oed_ipus_. And I didn't get her drunk at two o'clock." He smirked at me. "I got her drunk at nine o'clock, and _kept_ her drunk until two."

I nodded solemnly in confirmation. "But it's okay, because we had Honey Nut Cheerios."

"Oh, Jesus," Jacob muttered, maneuvering me to the couch and helping me down. "Bella, if you're going to drink irresponsibly, you could at least have the decency to sleep with a woman afterward." He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a tall glass of water.

"Drink," he ordered.

I giggled. "I already did."

"You need me to call you a cab?" Jacob asked Edward.

"Nope." He stretched languidly. "I'm good."

"No you're not, you're going home. Do you want to call the cab, or do you want me to?"

Edward ignored him. "You know, Bella, if we fucked right now, I could be the drunken mistake story that you tell at parties."

I laughed gleefully at his suggestion. "You'd be the dumbest mistake _ever!_"

"Seriously," Jacob said, snapping his fingers at Edward, "you need to leave. Where do you live?"

"Um. . . ." Edward held up a finger as he thought for a moment, then twisted it downward so he was pointing at the floor. "Here."

Jacob cocked an eyebrow at me.

"It's true," I said. "He moved in, because he's an asshole."

"No," Edward corrected, "I moved in because _Cullen_ is an asshole."

A sharp pain twisted in my chest at the mention of his name, and I frowned. "I miss him. I should call him."

"_Yes_," Edward said emphatically. He crawled over the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch beside me. "I'll call him with you."

"Okay."

He looked at me expectantly. "Where's your phone?"

"I don't know."

"Bella!" Jacob snapped, grabbing my chin and turning my face toward him. "It's time for you to tell me what the fuck is going on."

"I'm sorry," I said kindly, "you two haven't been properly introduced."

"So introduce us."

"Edward Platt, this is Jacob Black."

"Oh, _you're_ Jacob Black!" Edward said. "Bummer about that fishhook through the ear, man. Bella said she was really sorry."

Jacob stared at him, thoroughly confused. "What?"

"Remember?" I said, scooting onto my knees, "that one time when you and Charlie tried to teach me how to fish?"

"Yeah—forget it," Jacob said, waving the story away. "Who is he, Bella?"

"This," I said, "is Edward, also known as Oedipus, also known as Carlisle Junior."

Jacob frowned. "And in sober-people speak that means. . . ."

Edward grinned and stuck his hand out. "It means I'm Carlisle Cullen's bastard son." He grabbed Jacob's hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"No way," Jacob said, gaping at him.

"It's true," I nodded. "He really is a bastard."

"Dr. Pedophobe has a kid?" Jacob blurted out. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, you see," Edward said earnestly, "when a man and a woman love each other very much. . . ."

I snickered.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Where is he?"

My happy buzz took a sharp downturn at his question, and I pulled my knees up to my chest. "I don't know. I'm not allowed to know anymore."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means," Edward said, leaning across the table to grab the bottle of Patrón off of the floor, "that Bella just made the Carlisle Cullen Reject List." He took a swig from the bottle and passed it to me. I started to drink, but Jacob snatched it from my hands and replaced it with the glass that he had brought.

"Uh-uh, Bella. Water. And are you trying to tell me that Carlisle broke up with you?"

I nodded morosely and stared at my glass until Jacob tipped it up to my lips. I drank dutifully after that, gulping down the cool, refreshing liquid. I was surprised to find that, despite how much I had had to drink, I was thirsty. The glass was half empty before I even took a breath.

"Good girl," Jacob said. "Let's get some food in you, too. Are those your bagels on the table?"

My head snapped up and I stared at the Einstein Bros. bag that Carlisle had brought. I had forgotten all about it, and seeing it there made me remember the softness in his eyes and the way he had held me when he had reassured me that we would be all right. Before I realized what was happening, a lump was forming in my throat again, and tears were pricking my eyes.

"He left," I whispered, staring at the bag. "He said it was okay, and then he changed his mind."

"Aw, baby," Jacob said sympathetically, settling onto the arm of the couch next to me. "Come here." He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against his warm body.

"Fix it, Jacob," I begged pathetically. "It hurts too much."

"The first thing you're going to do is sleep this off," he said. "I'll get you some aspirin and you can go to bed, while your new roommate and I have a talk about binge drinking in the middle of the day."

"Relax," Edward said easily, "we had a bad day. It's not like we're drinking ourselves stupid twice a week."

Jacob ignored him and went to the kitchen, returning with a couple of painkillers. He made sure I took them and finished my water, and then scooped me up in his arms. He carried me to the bedroom and settled me onto the bed, tucking the sheet around me.

"Sleep for a little while," he said. "And when you wake up with a massive hangover, we'll get you more water and aspirin, okay?"

"I love you, Jacob Black," I mumbled.

"I love you too, Bella Swan."

I sighed and sank down into my pillow. At least there was _someone_ in my life who would say the words back to me.

Jacob and Edward saw to it that I got through the weekend without entirely losing my sanity. Jacob declared the alcohol off-limits, but Edward managed to fix the television, and the two of them distracted me by trying to teach me to play video games. My digital coordination wasn't any better than my actual coordination, so I sucked, but it was still a nice distraction.

Monday it was back to school, though, and it was nearly impossible for me to walk the campus and not think of Carlisle. I missed him fiercely, and without Jacob and Edward beside me, I didn't know how to stop thinking of him.

I didn't like the way things had been left between us. I kept thinking that maybe if we had a chance to talk, we could work everything out. Communication had been a constant problem between us, but when we did manage to talk, things got better. I wanted that. I wanted things to get better again. So after my morning class, I decided to head to Carlisle's office to see if we couldn't come to some kind of an understanding.

As I approached the Ford building, however, I saw Edward emerge from the front doors, escorted by two yellow-clad campus security agents. They stopped in front of the building, and one of them addressed Edward sternly, though I was too far away to hear what he was saying. Edward listened, but I knew the expression on his face. It was overly friendly and a tiny bit patronizing, and a mischievous smirk played behind it.

The security agents left as I approached the doors, and Edward spotted me. He strode forward and intercepted me, grabbing my arm and steering me away from the building.

"Uh-uh," he said. "Not today, okay?"

"Why not?" I looked back over my shoulder, craning my neck to see my intended destination.

"I kind of pissed him off," Edward said, dragging me away. "Turns out, he wasn't kidding about having me thrown out."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," he grinned. "I just dropped in for a visit. I guess he wasn't feeling particularly sociable today."

I sighed heavily. Unfortunately, Edward was right. If he had put Carlisle in a mood, today was _not_ the day to try talking out our problems.

"Come on, I'll make it up to you," he said. "Let me buy you lunch.

I nodded and directed him toward the Law School Café, where Jacob and Rosalie were already waiting at our usual table. Edward and I grabbed lunch, and I led him over to join them.

"Edward, Rosalie," I said shortly, giving them a cursory introduction.

Edward flashed Rosalie a glowing smile, looking her over appreciatively. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Lesbian," she said disinterestedly.

"Damn." He scooted a chair up to the table. "So," he said, "what do you guys talk about at lunch?"

"Bella obsesses over Carlisle," Jacob said. "Rosalie obsesses over Bella. And I obsess over the possibility that Bella and Rosalie might one day rekindle the flame that burned so brightly for them one special night, long ago. . . ."

"Yeah, speaking of which," Rosalie said with a suggestive smile, "Jacob tells me you may be in need of another rebound fling." She winked at me. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you, like a good friend should be."

Jacob and Edward both grinned like idiots.

"And _I _just want you to know," Edward added, "that I'm there for you too. In fact, I think you should let _both_ of us be there for you—at the same time."

Rosalie and I both rolled our eyes. "Boys," she said in annoyance. "Honestly, Bella, I don't know how you put up with them."

"I can't seem to live without them," I sighed. "Do you think I should call Carlisle?"

"No!" Jacob and Rosalie both said, as Edward gave a firm, "Yes."

"Yes, Bella, absolutely," he pressed. "You should do everything in your power to salvage your relationship."

"Don't listen to him," Jacob said scornfully. "His motives are entirely self-serving. He just wants to use you to get to Dr. C."

"Right," Rosalie nodded, though she looked a little confused.

"Don't listen to Rosalie either," Jacob added.

She gave an indignant squeak. "Why not?"

"Because you're just trying to get Bella back into bed," he said. "And as much as I support that, I'm willing to selflessly sacrifice my own sexual stimulation for the sake of my best friend's well-being."

"You aren't though," I pointed out. "You're telling me not to call him, just like Rosalie.

"Yes, but only because that's what's best for you," he replied righteously. "You don't want to be the girl who begs someone to stay with her, Bella."

"That's bullshit," Edward scoffed. "Relationships take _work_. Sometimes you have to swallow your pride and put in the time to keep them together."

"What good is a relationship if you have to talk him into staying?" Rosalie argued.

"He'd just leave again eventually," Jacob chimed in. "He was never as invested as you were, Bella, you knew that all along."

I glared around at all of them. "Fine, I won't call him today, but that's mostly because Edward pissed him off. I might change my mind tomorrow."

I didn't, though. When I started thinking about what I should say to him, I drew a blank. Jacob was right, I didn't want to beg him, but I couldn't come up with anything to say that didn't sound like begging. So day after miserable day passed, and I remained frozen in indecision.

Meanwhile, Edward was driving me crazy. I liked him and all, and I was particularly appreciative of the way he generously shared his talent in the kitchen, but he was _always_ there. And he made noise. He watched TV and played video games, or he played the electronic keyboard he had set up in his bedroom and the sound drifted through the thin walls. Even when he was cooking he was always whistling or humming. He seemed incapable of being quiet.

I probably wouldn't have minded so much, except he was happy and I wasn't. He had been hurt by Carlisle too, but it didn't eat at him the way it did me. Carlisle had been such an integral part of my life that everywhere I went I was plagued by cruel reminders that he wasn't with me anymore.

It didn't help that he hadn't come to collect his things. His toothbrush was still in the bathroom, his clothes still in my closet. I thought several times about boxing them up and taking them to him, but that had a stifling air of finality to it. Packing his things would be admitting that we were really over, that he didn't love me, and I couldn't make myself do it.

So instead I obsessed. I slept in his T-shirts at night, and wore the necklace he had given me every day. I wondered if he was missing me, and I dropped hints to Jacob, hoping he would tell me that Carlisle looked unhappy these days, that his classes were flat and boring. But according to Jacob, there was no discernible change in him. He lectured with the same charming enthusiasm that he always had.

That depressed the hell out of me.

Finals were approaching, and I tried to do that thing that I always read about in books, where people threw themselves into their work to distract them from their heartache. It turned out I wasn't very good at it, though. More often than not, my depression ended up distracting me from my studying.

And Edward's noise _wasn't helping._ It was nearly impossible to focus when he was blowing things up on his game console or whistling in the kitchen. After nearly two weeks of biting back harsh, undeserved criticisms, I finally gave up on trying to study at home. Escaping my apartment was nothing new to me, after all. I had done it every day when I had lived with Mike. So I stuffed my books into my bag and headed for campus, offering Edward a vague goodbye as I ducked out the door.

I considered not returning to my favorite study table. God knew I didn't need any more reminders of Carlisle than I already had. But the fact was, I _wanted_ them. I wanted to surround myself in things that made me think of him, and I found my feet carrying me along my usual path through the building, practically without my permission.

I faltered as I neared the table, seeing it occupied by a familiar form. My stomach clenched at the site of the tousled blond hair and the tired blue eyes that stared vacantly at the tabletop. I briefly considered turning around and leaving, but quickly dismissed that idea. Instead I moved slowly toward him, and his blank eyes raised to mine, filling with hope when he saw me there.

I smiled hesitantly. "Hi, Mike."

"Bella," he breathed, his whole body relaxing. "God, you're a sight for sore eyes." He stood and rounded the table, moving to give me an awkward hug. I returned it, but pulled away quickly.

"What are you doing here?" I asked curiously.

"You used to study here all the time," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I thought maybe you might . . . come back." He dropped his head and hunched his shoulders.

"No, I mean, why are you _here_, in L.A.? You graduated. You had that job offer in New York. . . ."

He peeked up at me from beneath a shock of messy hair. "I couldn't go without you. It was supposed to be you and me together, and I don't know how to move forward if you're not with me. I'm still working at the Nine-Oh—I can't even think about applying for other jobs because they might take me away from you." He extracted a hand from his pocket and reached out, taking mine and holding it tightly. "I need you, Bella."

I stared at him, at a complete loss for words. I honestly hadn't given him all that much thought since I had started seeing Carlisle, and I was finding it a little unnerving that he was still clinging so tightly to the relationship that I had let go of so quickly. "How long have you been coming here?" I finally blurted out.

"Like a month." He gave me a rueful smile and took a half step closer to me. "I just wanted to see you again. I didn't know where you moved to, and I lost my cell phone, so I didn't have your number."

"You don't know my number?" I asked, confused.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Number one on my speed dial. I never actually had to key it in."

"Right," I mumbled, but I couldn't help but think to myself that I knew his number, speed dial or not.

"Baby, I need you to give me another chance," he said. "I know I fucked up, and I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. But I promise, I'll spend my whole life making it up to you." He gripped my shoulders and pulled me close to him, leaning down and pressing soft kisses to my lips.

I didn't kiss him back, but I didn't stop him either. His lips tasted so sweet against mine, so familiar, and I found myself reliving some of the happy times I had had with him: playing Frisbee in the park, laughing over bad horror movies, dancing at parties on the rare occasions that he could convince me to go out.

But I also remembered the constant need to escape him. I had taken refuge in the library nearly every night because I couldn't focus on my schoolwork when he was around. He demanded my attention, disregarding my needs and putting his own at the forefront. I remembered the relief I often felt once I had managed to get out of the apartment and into a quiet study area.

With Carlisle, I hadn't needed the escape. His presence didn't have to eclipse mine. I only ever felt the inexorable pull toward him, never the desire to break away.

But he didn't want me, and Mike did.

I once again found myself facing the same question I had when I found out Mike had cheated. Did I give up the fantasy in favor of reality? Did I accept that my life wasn't intended to have a fairy tale ending? I had loved Mike, truly and deeply. Sure, he was flawed, but so was Carlisle. How much of my life could I waste chasing dreams that weren't going to come true?

But I was only twenty years old. Did I really have to stop chasing dreams already?

Mike mistook my lack of resistance as compliance, and he wrapped his arm around me, deepening the kiss. His tongue caressed mine and his hands rubbed eagerly over my back as I silently debated with myself. I let it go on for a few seconds before deciding that no, I wasn't ready to accept that life had to be this way. There would be time for disillusionment later. For now, I wanted to love Carlisle, even if that love had to go unrequited.

I took a step back, but Mike followed, not releasing me. I turned my head away, breaking the kiss, and pressed a hand against his chest as I moved back again.

"Stop," I said softly.

Mike's eyebrows drew together in anxiety and pain. "Bella, please," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." I patted his chest awkwardly. "I understand, Mike, and I'm not mad anymore. I loved you so much, and I won't ever regret a single moment with you. But it's over."

"Don't say that," he choked, tears glistening in his eyes. "Please."

I extracted myself from his arms, sympathizing with him even as I urged him to accept the very situation that I was refusing to accept with Carlisle. "You have to move on, Mike. You have to accept that job in New York and start building a life that you can share with someone else."

"I don't _want_ anyone else, Bella. Only you—it's always only been you."

_Except when it was her,_ a little voice in the back of my mind chimed in.

I ignored it. "You have to let it go. Our relationship will always be a happy memory for me. I hope it will be for you, too."

A tear slipped from his eye as he swallowed back a sob. "I don't know how to live without you."

"Then this will be good for you," I said encouragingly. "Take some time to be by yourself, explore a few things, figure yourself out."

He shook his head. "You make it sound a lot nicer than it feels when I go home alone at night."

"You're going to be fine," I assured him. "I know you, Mike. You don't let anything keep you down for long." I caught his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, hoping he wouldn't fight me too much longer. I was running out of clichés.

Thankfully, he forced a watery smile. "I'm always going to love you, Bella."

I nodded. "We had good times."

He pulled me close for one more kiss, and I allowed it, trying not to pull away too quickly when he released a longing moan. I let him say goodbye, and when he finally stepped back, he wiped his own tears from my cheeks.

"Take care of yourself," he whispered, and then turned and quickly walked away.

I slumped down into a chair at the table and stared at the wood grain on the surface as I replayed the conversation in my head, putting myself in Mike's place. It was time for _me_ to move on, too. I had to accept that, and let Carlisle go. I told myself over and over again that the things I had told Mike were just as true for me.

I tried desperately to make myself believe it.

I failed.


	20. Make Confession

**********Big thanks to NixHaw for pre-reading this chapter for me and helping me see if it was as much of a struggle to read as it was to write. You know how sometimes it just _flows?_**********

**********Not this time.**********

**********Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**********

* * *

><p><strong>20. Make Confession<strong>

Dr. Berty was the one who finally snapped me out of the self-pitying funk I had fallen into. Friday afternoon, nearly two weeks after Carlisle had left me, he called my name and asked me to stay after class.

My stomach tightened at the memory of our previous after-class encounters, and I settled into a desk on the front row, using the small table as a shield.

He didn't give me the smug, suggestive smile that he had always used before, though. Instead, after the room had emptied, he turned an angry glare on me.

"What did you do?" he demanded, stalking over to my desk.

I looked at him, startled. "W-was the homework wrong?" I stammered.

"To Cullen!" he snapped impatiently. "What did you do to Cullen?"

"Why?" I asked, a growing feeling of panic rising inside of me. "Is he okay? What's wrong with him?"

Dr. Berty leaned on the desk in front of me, bringing his face close to mine. "What's wrong," he spat, "is that you've driven him from this university. I don't know what you've done, but if he's giving up his tenure just to get away from you, I can only assume there was some sort of misconduct involved."

I gaped at him. "He's _leaving?_"

"Yes, Miss Swan," he said sharply. "The only member of this faculty worth the air he breathes tendered his resignation this morning."

"No," I whispered, feeling ill. "No, he can't leave."

"I agree," Dr. Berty growled. "Which is why you're going to correct your mistake. If you value your grade, you'll get him to retract his resignation before the semester is over."

White hot anger flared inside my chest, and I rose slowly, glaring at him. "Don't you _dare_ threaten my grade," I hissed furiously. "I'll have you know, I've saved every assignment from this class, every test, and I will continue to do so, as proof that I've _worked_ for my A. And don't think I've forgotten your wildly inappropriate advances. As long as we're making threats, here's one for you. If you don't give me every single point I earn, I'll have _you_ under investigation for misconduct."

I stormed out of the room, not giving him a chance to reply, and headed directly for the Ford building. I marched into Carlisle's office and kicked the door closed behind me.

"You're _quitting?_"

Carlisle looked up from his laptop and frowned. "Diego, take a break."

Diego didn't hesitate, but he gave me a wary look as he passed me and slipped quietly out the door.

"What the hell?" I demanded, turning my attention back to Carlisle.

He closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair. "I've accepted a position at the University of Florida," he said calmly.

"A _tenured_ position?"

He met my gaze, but didn't answer my question.

"So after twenty years at USC, you suddenly discovered your Gator pride?"

He lowered his eyes. "It's a good school—"

"Don't bullshit me," I interrupted. "This isn't about a job."

He rubbed his eyes wearily. "I can't be here if he's here."

"And you think he'll stay here if you move to Florida?"

"His tuition has been paid."

I stared at him incredulously. "He didn't come here for free tuition, Carlisle, he came here for _you!_ If you think running away is going to solve this problem, you're _seriously_ underestimating him."

"It's not up for debate," he said flatly.

I glared at him. "I know you try to play yourself off as some kind of villain," I said, "but that's not what it is. You're a coward, plain and simple."

He didn't look up, and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to respond. But eventually he murmured quietly, "I have reason to be."

I shook my head in disgust. "You could be better than this. It's your choice." I turned to leave, but his tentative voice stopped me.

"Bella?"

I looked back at him, my hand on the doorknob.

"How is he?" he asked softly, his eyes anxious and worried.

"He's a head case," I said uncharitably. "He's a neurotic, manipulative, overachiever who's afraid he'll never be good enough for anyone. And I really like him."

He rubbed his eyes again. "Is he healthy?" he asked. "When he was in Africa . . . he didn't get sick? Or hurt?"

His concern completely baffled me. I didn't understand him at all.

"He's fine."

Carlisle nodded and opened his laptop again in a clear dismissal.

I left, but I wasn't ready to admit defeat. I drove home and headed inside, finding Edward sprawled out on the couch, reading _The Prince._

"Put that away," I ordered. "You're well on your way to being an evil dictator without help from Machiavelli."

He smirked, but didn't lower the book. "You don't fool me, Bella Swan. You're crazy about me."

"Whatever. Put it away. If we're going to figure Carlisle out, I need your attention." I strode purposefully into my bedroom and dug around in the top of my closet until I found the file that Rosalie's friend had put together. I returned to the living room, where Edward was sitting up now, looking eager. I threw the file on the coffee table, and Edward's eyes widened.

"What is that?"

"Carlisle."

"And you didn't show me before?" He snatched it up, but before he could open it, I put a hand over it.

"First I need to know what you know. Does June eleventh mean anything to you?"

He looked puzzled. "Um . . . nine shopping days until my birthday? Why?"

"And you were born in 1990?" I asked.

He nodded. "_Why?_"

"Carlisle has 'June 11, 1990' tattooed on his wrist," I said. "He doesn't talk about it, but he did tell me that something happened on that day that made him change his life."

Edward looked perplexed.

"What's your mom's name?" I asked.

"Esme."

"And why don't you think she and Carlisle ever see each other?"

"Because they don't," he said. "Every time I mentioned him, Mom told me we were better off without him."

I pursed my lips. "You should probably start to consider the idea that she may have lied to you."

"No way." He shook his head. "There's no way she would have kept that from me."

"She was here."

Edward looked skeptical. "When?"

"A few weeks ago."

"What?" he asked. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. She and Carlisle spent the day together, and then she left and he came home happier than I'd ever seen him."

"So he fucked my mom," Edward spat.

I sighed and shook my head. "I don't think so. But he definitely cares about her, and he told me he saw her about five years ago."

Edward looked stricken. "Five years?" he mumbled. "She . . . she saw him, and she didn't tell me?"

"Next question," I said brusquely, trying to keep him from getting distracted. "For a kid who never got child support, you don't seem like you're hurting for money. You've been back in the country for less than a month, but you have a motorcycle, a new bed, and more electronics than I even want to know about. And you're not exactly pounding the pavement looking for a job."

"Mom was smart," he shrugged. "She made decent money and she put some away for college and a trust fund. And then she married Marcus, and I assume he kicked some in, because," he grinned, "it's a pretty fucking big trust fund."

"What does your mom do?" I asked.

"She's a nurse."

I looked at him dubiously. She was able to get by as a single mother on a nurse's salary and still put money away for college tuition _and_ a trust fund? I had my doubts.

"And you're sure Carlisle never contributed?"

Edward fixed me with a challenging look. "The Department of Revenue keeps records of everyone who pays child support," he said. "They're not in the system."

"Okay," I said. I was still unconvinced, but I surrendered the folder to him. "Have a look."

Edward flipped it open and quickly read Jasper's summary. When he finished, he started again, taking his time on the second read-through.

"Huh," he grunted when he finished. "Okay, I guess I can see why he's not big on family."

"Edward," I said hesitantly, fiddling with my Saint Monica pendant, "he might care a little more about family than he lets on."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Every day," I said, "every _single_ morning that I spent with him, he got online and watched a news report from Angola."

Edward stared at me.

"And I just went to see him," I went on. "He didn't have very much to say to me, but he asked me how you were."

Edward mulled that over, his expression growing darker as the seconds passed.

"Too little, too late," he finally said. "If he really gave a shit, he could have asked _me_ how I was. You know, rather than having me thrown out of his office."

"Okay, that's fair," I agreed. "But it tells us something, doesn't it? If he didn't care at all, he wouldn't have checked up on you. There's got to be some reason he thinks he can't talk to you."

Edward flipped idly through the file. "Maybe it's because he thinks his sociopathic tendencies are hereditary," he said, pulling out the police report detailing Carlisle's arrest. He scanned through it, and suddenly gripped my knee, his eyebrows raising.

"I know this guy," he said. "Or I _did_, a long time ago."

"The guy Carlisle attacked?" I asked, looking over his shoulder at the report.

"Charles Evenson," he said. "I can't fucking stand that son of a bitch."

"Why?"

Edward sat back, grinding his teeth. "He dated my mom," he said. "He was always yelling at her, and one time I saw him slap her. I decked him for it, and earned myself a beating with a baseball bat. Broke my leg and two ribs—hurt like a motherfucker."

"Are you serious?" I breathed.

He nodded. "Mom freaked out. She took me to the hospital and then dragged me off to a motel. We stayed there for a couple of days and then went home, and I never saw the bastard again."

"How old were you?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Twelve or thirteen?"

I pointed at the date of Carlisle's arrest in 2003.

He stared at it, saying nothing.

I folded my arms across my chest, tapping my fingers impatiently on my elbow. "It's just one more thing that tells me he cares more than he lets on, but I still don't know why he's trying to distance himself from you." I sifted through the little tidbits of information I had picked up from him, but I couldn't come up with anything that made sense. "We're still missing something."

Edward blew out an aggravated breath. "How the fuck are we supposed to figure this out?"

I chewed at my lip, thinking about the times that Carlisle had opened up to me. He had answered my question, albeit vaguely, when I had asked him about his tattoo. And though he had left out a fairly large part of the story, he hadn't shied away when I had demanded information about Esme. He had even told me about some of the abuse he had witnessed as a child after a little bit of prodding.

I gritted my teeth in determination, pushing myself to my feet. "I'm going to ask him."

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll help," Edward scoffed. "There's no reason to think he won't just lie to you again."

"Carlisle lied to me because I let him." I said. "And I always let him, because I was afraid of losing him." I grabbed my purse and slung it over my shoulder. "This time, I don't have anything to lose."

"I'm coming with you," he said, scrambling to his feet."

"No." I gave him an apologetic look. "He clams up when you're around, Edward. I need him as loose as I can get him."

He glowered at me, but sank back down onto the couch. "Do you promise you won't hold out on me this time?"

I wanted to say yes, but I knew myself better than that. Much as I liked him, my loyalty still belonged to Carlisle. I loved Carlisle, as crazy and reckless as it seemed, and if he insisted that I keep something from Edward, I would.

"Bella," he said sharply.

"I'll do what I can."

He glared at me.

"I'll go to bat for you, Edward," I said earnestly. "I promise."

He crossed his arms over his chest, hunching his shoulders a little. I could tell he wanted to argue, but he just nodded.

I turned and headed out the door, making the short drive to Carlisle's house. I was fully prepared for him not to be at home, since I had just left him at his office. My intention was to plant myself on his front porch and wait for him to return. But his car was in the driveway when I arrived, so it looked like I wasn't going to have to wait.

I took a deep, steadying breath as I stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door. It was pulled open after a few moments, and my heart lurched in my chest at the familiar sight of Carlisle's placid blue eyes and the unbuttoned collar beneath his loosened tie.

"Bella," he said cordially, his voice devoid of emotion.

I arched an eyebrow. "You might want to invite me in. You and I are going to have a long talk."

He was silent for a moment, just looking at me, but then he stepped back and opened the door wider, allowing me inside.

I stepped over the threshold and turned to face him, as he closed the door. He gestured toward the living room, and the two of us moved to the couch and sat down. It hurt when he left a couple of feet of space between us, but I forced myself not to dwell on it.

"You need to tell me what's going on," I said.

"It's not your concern."

"Yes it is," I said firmly.

He just shook his head, not meeting my gaze.

"Carlisle, this can't go on," I pleaded. "It's killing me, and it's driving Edward crazy."

His calm demeanor never wavered. "Edward is young and impulsive. He's chasing a whim right now, but he'll give it up as soon as he's distracted by something else."

"You're fooling yourself," I said. "This isn't the kind of problem that goes away if you ignore it long enough. Edward is determined to understand you . . . and so am I."

"This isn't something I talk about."

"It is today."

He stared at me, anger simmering behind his eyes, but I just held his gaze. I wasn't backing down.

"You need to leave," he said softly.

"Why? Are you going to call the police and have me thrown out the way you did with Edward?"

He flinched and looked away, and I realized what should have been obvious to me a long time ago. Edward was Carlisle's weakness. He was ashamed of the way he had been treating his son, much as he wanted to pretend he wasn't.

"You're hurting him," I said bluntly. "You have been all his life. Every time you didn't show up for him you made him feel worthless, and every time you refuse to talk to him now, you tear him down a little more."

"This is the way it has to be," he said unsteadily.

"_Why?_ If he understood, he might be able to accept it and stop pushing so hard. He might even go home and leave you in peace."

Carlisle winced again, which only confused me. Wasn't that what he wanted?

"He deserves an explanation," I said. "And honestly, I think I do too. If you're going to leave me because you can't stand to be reminded of your mistakes, I should get to know the whole story."

Once again, his reaction surprised me. His jaw clenched, and anger burned in his eyes. "My son is not a mistake," he snapped coldly.

Confusion warred with frustration inside of me. "Then why are you treating him like he is?"

"It's best if he doesn't want to see me," he said wearily.

I snorted derisively. "If that's your strategy, it's not working very well. Every time you push him away, you make him that much more determined to see you."

He ran a hand through his hair in aggravation. "This can't go on."

I had to fight my impulse to comfort him, to replace the hand in his hair with my own and kiss away his unhappiness. I scooted closer to him, letting my knee touch his. "I miss you, Carlisle."

His eyes softened, saddened, and he raised his hand to my cheek. "I miss you, too."

I turned my face into his palm, bringing my own hand up to cover his. "Help me understand," I begged. "I've tried to let go, but I can't. I have to know why."

Carlisle squeezed his eyes shut, his face pinched in pain, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he slowly drew his hand back and reached into his pocket, drawing out a set of keys. He selected one and carefully extracted it from the keychain, staring at it anxiously for a moment before he held it out to me.

I knew what it was without having to be told. Since the day he had given me his house key, there had only been one door that was locked to me. They key felt heavy in my hand when I took it from him, and I rose wordlessly to my feet, heading toward the hall. Carlisle followed after me, also silent, and I stopped at the door and glanced at him. He looked sad, but he made no move to stop me, so I slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

I didn't know what I was expecting to find inside the room, but in my mind I had created a picture of a dark, forbidding place with shadowy corners and dusty cobwebs. What I saw instead was a jarring contrast.

Warm sunlight filtered through pale, cream-colored curtains, illuminating walls that were almost completely covered with glossy chestnut picture frames. From every single one of them, the same face smiled back at me, and though the ages in the portraits varied, they all showed the same sparkling green eyes, the bright, mischievous grin, and the shock of untamable bronze hair that I had become so familiar with over the last two weeks.

The room held more than just pictures, though. A curio cabinet sat to the right of the door, filled with an assortment of ribbons and trophies, most accompanied by photographs of Edward receiving them from various presenters. Other surfaces held clay sculptures and macaroni art obviously created by childish hands, and on a file cabinet in the corner rested a an eight by ten frame with a photocopy of a hand-written musical composition.

The entire room had been converted into a shrine to Edward.

I walked slowly into the room, taking it all in, trying to understand what I was seeing. I turned to look at Carlisle, who was leaning against the doorjamb, watching me intently with deep, sad eyes.

"My son is my entire life," he said softly. "From the moment I found out Esme was pregnant, he has been everything to me."

I moved to the curio cabinet, running my fingers over the satin-smooth wood. It was beautiful, hand-built and intricately carved, with brass handles and beveled glass. "You built this," I blurted out.

He nodded. "I made every frame and every piece of furniture in this room, excepting that file cabinet."

I looked around the room again, taking in the picture frames around me. They were nothing like the simple, square frames that Carlisle and I had made together. These were elaborate pieces of art, lovingly and painstakingly crafted over long hours. There was an intricately-carved table under the window with a bench resting beneath it, and I couldn't even imagine how much time had gone into those.

This room was much more than a collection of memorabilia. Carlisle had poured his heart and soul into creating this space, but the only evidence that I had ever seen were the calluses on his hands and the tools in the garage. His love for Edward bordered on obsession, yet he had never publicly acknowledged his son, and he refused to tell anyone about him.

"Why?" I asked, turning back to him. "If you love him so much, who won't you see him?"

He leaned his forehead against the door frame, his eyes slipping closed. "It's impossible to explain," he said hesitantly, "what it's like to live the life I have. Growing up with the violence, the cruelty . . . it's poison. It seeps into your soul and taints every part of you."

I stared at him, wide-eyed. I hadn't expected the conversation to turn in this direction.

"I learned to hurt people the same way I learned to speak," he went on quietly. "I did it, I was good at it . . . I liked it. I was the bully on the playground, the kid everyone was afraid of."

"You . . . you liked it?" I asked hesitantly."

He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes dark and cold. "Yes, Bella. You have a tendency to think the best of people, but we don't always deserve it. I hurt people because I liked how it felt to force them to do what I wanted them to do."

I crossed my arms in front of myself in a subconsciously protective gesture, but as soon as I noticed it I dropped them back to my sides again. "You don't do that now, though."

He straightened, pushing off of the door frame and rubbing his eyes. "No. But it never goes away. You can modify your behavior and learn to suppress the darker impulses, but they're always there, lurking beneath the surface. All it takes is one moment of weakness for them to break free."

"So that's why you wouldn't see Edward?" I asked. "You were afraid you would hurt him?"

"Being a parent is the most difficult, the most frustrating thing most people will ever do," he said sadly. "It's enough to drive a stable man to distraction. For me . . . it was never an option. I didn't want my son to have the kind of life I had."

I looked back at the curio cabinet, examining one photograph after another of Edward receiving various accolades. He had been driven to a lot of his successes by a deep-seated fear of abandonment, but that seemed like a small price to pay to have escaped the violence that Carlisle was talking about.

"You may have made the right choice," I conceded. "I don't pretend to be qualified to judge, but he did deserve a chance to grow up in a safe home, and you gave him that."

I saw a little of the tension leave Carlisle's shoulders as he nodded, his head lowered.

"But things are different now," I continued. "He's not a little boy anymore."

Carlisle shoved his hands in his pockets. "He's the same age as Esme was when I hurt her," he said softly, his voice raw and filled with regret.

My eyes widened as I stared at him.

"I thought I was better," he said shakily. "I thought, after a decade of therapy, after going years without ever losing control, that I could think of myself as cured.

"When Esme told me she was pregnant, I was thrilled. It wasn't planned, and the timing was awkward, but I felt like I was finally getting the chance to have a real family."

"What happened?" I asked when he fell silent.

He gave a bitter laugh. "Life happened. We were college students, strapped for money and time, and we got frustrated with each other. We had an argument, no worse than a hundred others we had had before, but this time I didn't control myself. I hurt her. Badly. And it wasn't until I had her pinned against a wall, demanding an apology from her, that I even realized what I was doing."

I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to squeeze away the nausea.

"I could have killed my son," he said hollowly. "She was eight months pregnant. With the things I did to her, it's a miracle Edward wasn't hurt." He rubbed his hand absently over the band of his watch. "I knew her doctors wanted to call the police, to report a domestic violence, but she lied for me. Just like my mother always had for my father."

"That was June eleventh," I said softly.

His tortured eyes finally met mine, and he nodded. "That was the day I lost everything. My fiancée, my son, and any hope I ever had of living the life I wanted. I couldn't destroy Esme and Edward like that, so I left them."

I moved toward him and reached out to place a hand over his heart. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I can't imagine how awful that must have been."

He covered my hand with his own and gazed sadly down at me. "I gave up everything to keep him safe," he said sadly. "I always will. Edward is the only good thing I've ever given to the world."

"I think you should talk to him," I urged gently.

"No." He shook his head. "I can't. I won't put him at risk."

"Would you quit being stubborn for a minute and listen to me?" I said in exasperation. "A conversation with you isn't a threat to his safety. He's not a child anymore, and frankly, Carlisle . . ." I gave him a rueful smile, "I think he could take you."

"He shouldn't have to," Carlisle growled, apparently not finding my teasing the least bit funny. "He shouldn't have to defend himself against his own father."

"He shouldn't have to be ignored by him either," I countered. "You had the right to make these decisions for him when he was a kid, but he's _not_ anymore. He deserves a say in the matter. You have to talk to him, tell him what you told me, and let _him_ decide whether he wants to have a relationship with you."

Carlisle ran a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. "And what if he doesn't?" he choked. "What if he finds out what kind of a man I am, and I lose him forever?"

"I don't think he will," I said, reaching up and drawing his hand out of his hair. I moved it to my hip instead, and wrapped my arms around his neck. "You're worth the risk, Carlisle. I've always thought so."

He pulled his hand back and carefully removed my arms from around him, taking a step back.

"I can't, Bella," he said softly. "I'm sorry. My son will always come first to me, and if he wants to be with you, I can't be the man who gets in his way."

"Be with me?" I asked, confused. "What are you talking about? The only interest Edward has in me is my relationship with you."

"Bella, he kissed you. He moved _in_ with you."

"To bait you," I said firmly. "He was just trying to piss you off. Trust me, there's nothing happening between Edward and me."

Carlisle looked unconvinced.

"He hit on Rosalie right in front of me," I said with a smirk. "Does that sound like someone who's trying to get with me?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Are you sure?"

"Ask him yourself. You should anyway. These secrets and assumptions . . . they're only causing you problems. I think things would get a lot better if you would just talk to him."

"I'm afraid to," he whispered, easing himself forward again and sliding his arms around my waist. "As wrong as it is, I like that he wants to know me. I'm afraid of losing that."

"It's what he needs, though," I said gently. "And you'll put his needs first, just like you've always done. I know you will."

Carlisle dropped his head in defeat, burying it in my shoulder. "I suppose we should go see him, then," he mumbled against my skin.

"Actually, I think he should come here." I gestured behind me toward the bedroom. "I think he needs to see this."

Carlisle straightened and gave me a searching look. "You don't think it would . . . upset him?"

I shook my head, smiling a little. "I think it would flatter him. Do you mind if I call him?"

He released me and moved back into the hallway, and I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed Edward's number.

"Let me guess," Edward said, skipping over the traditional greeting, "you got arrested for streaking and now you need me to bail you out of jail."

"Well, no, but now I know what I'm doing this weekend."

He snickered. "What's up, girl? Having any luck?"

"Actually, yeah," I said. "How would you like to come join us?"

There was no answer on the other end of the line.

"Edward?"

"You can't be serious," he finally blurted out. "He actually listened to you?"

"Yeah. And there are some things I think you should know. Will you come?"

"I'm on my way," he said eagerly. "Where?"

I gave him the address and directions to Carlisle's house, and he hung up after promising me that he would be right over.

Carlisle was leaning against the wall next to his bedroom door when I hung up, and I moved to stand in front of him.

"He's coming?" he asked distractedly, pulling me against him.

I nodded. "Carlisle?"

He met my gaze.

"Kiss me."

He closed his eyes and leaned down, brushing his nose against mine. "After all this," he whispered, "how can you still want me?"

"Don't question it. Just kiss me."

His lips brushed mine tentatively, and I let out a longing moan. It had been far too long since I had felt his mouth on mine, and my whole body throbbed with a sudden need for him.

"Please," I begged.

He kissed me again, more sure this time, and his tongue parted my lips and dipped into my mouth.

A surge of heat rushed through me, and I ran a hand up the back of his neck and into his soft, blond hair. He pulled me flush against his body, our hips meeting, and a low groan accompanied the stirring beneath the fabric of his slacks.

He broke the kiss abruptly, and leaned his forehead against my shoulder, drawing in deep breaths. "My Bella," he gasped, "I love you. I should have told you a long time ago. I love you."

I clung to him, swallowing against the inexplicable ache in my chest. "I love you, too," I said. "You know I do."

"I still can't be what you deserve," he said apologetically, kissing my neck. "I'll always put Edward before you. I can't change that."

"I'm not asking you to choose between him and me. I just want a place with you."

He kissed me again, slow and sweet, and then straightened and eased me back a step. "Later," he promised.

I smiled at him, biting my lip to hold back the hope bubbling up inside of me. "Later."

He led me out into the living room and stepped in front of the window, waiting silently for Edward to arrive. He buttoned his collar as he stared out at the yard, but I stopped him when he moved to tighten his tie.

"Don't," I said gently, pulling his hands away and undoing the button again. "You don't have to clean up your image for him. Just let him see you."

He nodded nervously, and we went back to staring out the window again. In an almost absent gesture, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and settled his hand over my throat, his fingertips brushing my pulse point.

It was only a few minutes before the sound of Edward's motorcycle could be heard, and a few seconds later he was parking it at the curb in front of the house. Carlisle's mouth turned down in a frown of disapproval, but he said nothing. He just moved to the door and pulled it open as Edward strode up the front walk. I stood beside him in a show of support and solidarity, but I wasn't sure Carlisle even noticed me. His entire focus was on his son.

"Edward," he greeted softly.

Edward fixed him with a disdainful frown, not bothering to answer, before turning to me and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. "Hey, Bella."

"Hey." I grabbed the sleeve of his coat as he started to remove it, drawing his attention back to me. "Be nice," I said firmly. "This is going to be a hard conversation for all of us, and it would help if you went into it with an open mind."

"Yes, Mother," he smirked, but there was compliance behind his smile, and I released his arm.

Carlisle held out his hand for Edward's coat and helmet, and Edward gave him a surprised look as he took them and hung them in the coat closet.

"So," Edward said, rubbing his hands together in front of him. "What is it that you guys want to talk about?"

Carlisle suddenly looked like he was having a hard time figuring out what to do with his hands. He folded and unfolded them twice, before finally just shoving them in his pockets. "I hope we didn't interrupt anything," he said anxiously.

Edward looked like he was about to make a flippant remark, but he caught my warning glare and just shrugged, looking away. "Nothing important."

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. They just stood there awkwardly, not quite looking at each other, waiting for something to happen.

Apparently it was up to me to get the conversation started. "There's something I think you should see," I told Edward, taking his arm.

He shrugged and let me guide him down the hall, with Carlisle following behind. I stopped at the doorway and gave him a little push into the room, and he stepped slowly inside, his eyes widening as he stared around at his own face, replicated over and over again.

"Holy shit."

I grabbed Carlisle's hand and pulled him to my side, giving him a bracing smile.

"Where the hell did you get all this stuff?" Edward demanded.

"Your mother sends it," Carlisle answered anxiously. "They're only things she thought you wouldn't miss."

Edward glowered at the curio cabinet full of memorabilia. "I can't believe she would do this and not tell me."

"That's my fault," Carlisle admitted. "I asked her not to talk to you about me. I thought it would make it easier for you."

Edward frowned, but didn't answer. He moved over to the filing cabinet in the corner and picked up the framed composition, looking it over.

"I used to have the original," Carlisle offered. "But your mother said you were looking for it, so I sent it back."

Edward shrugged self-consciously, half smiling as he scanned the paper. "I'm kind of sentimental, I guess," he said. "It was the first thing I wrote. I wanted to keep it."

"It's very good. Particularly for a first piece."

Edward frowned and cleared his throat, setting the frame back down. His hand moved to the top drawer of the filing cabinet, and he shot a quick, defensive glance at Carlisle, as though challenging him to deny him access.

Carlisle said nothing.

He pulled the drawer open and scanned the folders inside, each one labeled with a year. He reached into the middle and drew out a small stack of papers from a 2002 folder. He scanned them quickly, and his eyes widened.

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

Edward didn't answer, so Carlisle did. "They're financial records," he said. "They show how much of my income I kept and how much was transferred to Esme's account."

"How much did you transfer?"

"A _lot_," Edward breathed.

Carlisle suddenly found something on the floor very interesting. "By 2002 I had paid off this house. I didn't need very much to live off of."

"Wait, you were paying child support?" I asked.

"Technically, no." He rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand like a worry stone. "I was never recorded as Edward's legal father, so there was no child support plan put in place. I did everything I could, but in the beginning, when I was working two jobs on top of going to school full time, it was all I could do to give Esme half of what I made."

"You gave her _half?_" I asked incredulously. "That's a lot."

"It wasn't," he said, shaking his head. "It wasn't nearly enough. Her parents helped her, but she still had to drop out of school and work to cover her expenses."

"She went back," Edward said, almost to himself. He put the file back and pulled out another from 2006.

Carlisle nodded. "After I started publishing, there was more money available. I was able to give her enough to help with tuition."

"_Damn._ This is like . . . what, three quarters of your income?" Edward said, looking over the new page.

He nodded, still staring at the floor.

Edward frowned. "You sent an extra twenty thousand dollars in May." He looked up at Carlisle questioningly.

He smiled down at the floor, looking slightly sheepish. "It was for your birthday. You turned sixteen that year."

"_You_ bought me my car?" Edward asked.

Carlisle finally met his gaze. "I couldn't have you buying a five hundred dollar death trap. I wanted you to have something safe."

Edward cleared his throat and frowned in a deliberate attempt to hide a smile. "Yeah, well. Mom took it away a few weeks later. She wouldn't let me drive it for like six months."

Carlisle dropped his eyes again. "That was also my fault."

"What do you mean?"

"You were fighting at school," he said quietly. "That was unacceptable."

Edward glowered at him, but just shook his head and stuffed the papers back into the drawer, pushing it closed. "You cost me a date with Kate Parker," he muttered. "_So_ not cool."

Carlisle tried to suppress a smile, but failed. "I'm very sorry."

"So I assume this shit has a story," he said, gesturing around the room. "We should talk about it, I guess, but can we do it somewhere else? Because, frankly," he looked around at the pictures on the wall, "I'm getting a little creeped out."

"Of course," Carlisle said with another irrepressible smile. "Please." He gestured for us to precede him out of the room, and we all headed into the living room.

Edward flopped down in the middle of the couch and made himself at home, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "So," he said. "Gonna offer me a beer?"

"Um . . ." Carlisle looked uncomfortable, and he moved his hand to my shoulder, squeezing gently as though looking for some kind of reassurance. "I don't really keep alcohol in the house."

"I told you," I grinned. "Coffee and cereal bars. That's it."

"Bullshit," Edward said, smirking at Carlisle. "You have ice cream, don't you?"

Carlisle gave an uneasy laugh. "I do . . . uh . . ." He turned and headed toward the kitchen. "Any particular favorite flavors?"

"Let's see what you've got." Edward jumped up and followed him in, and I trailed after them. Carlisle moved to a drawer to collect spoons while Edward dug through the freezer. "Magic Brownies!" he exclaimed after a moment, emerging triumphantly with his ice cream clutched happily in his hand. "I haven't had this in so long. . . ."

Carlisle smiled and handed him a spoon, and he and I selected pints from the freezer as well. We all moved back to the living room, and this time Edward settled himself on the coffee table, facing Carlisle and me. He took a bite of his ice cream and moaned appreciatively.

"So fucking good," he mumbled around the spoon.

Carlisle's eyes shone with an odd light as he watched Edward, absently opening his own ice cream.

Edward's gaze fell on Carlisle's carton. "What kind did you get?" he asked curiously. "Chubby Hubby?" he read without waiting for an answer. "Damn, I should have gotten that one. Here." He traded cartons with Carlisle, and I couldn't help but giggle. Who knew that Carlisle's attitude on communal food could be passed genetically to his son?

Edward took an eager bite of Chubby Hubby, but then frowned and shook his head. "Never mind," he said. "Mine was better." He traded them back again, but ignored his own pint and dug a bite out of mine. "Karamel Sutra kicks ass too. We might trade later."

"What if I don't want to trade?" I challenged.

Edward smirked. "You have to. Your boyfriend missed my kindergarten graduation. That means you owe me by association, or something."

"Weak," I declared, clutching my carton close to my chest.

Carlisle cleared his throat quietly. "Actually . . . I was at your kindergarten graduation."

Edward froze with his spoon in his mouth and raised his eyebrows. "No shit?"

"I've tried to make it to as many events as I could," he said. "Piano recitals, baseball championships, your Eagle Scout Court of Honor. . . ."

"Don't forget beating the shit out of Mom's boyfriend," Edward tacked on casually.

Carlisle raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Wasn't that a good segue? I mean, we're here to talk about the serious stuff, right?"

Carlisle nodded solemnly as the tension crept back into the room. "That's right."

"So?" Edward propped his feet up on the couch next to Carlisle, crossing one ankle over the other. "Let's hear it."

Carlisle leaned back and started to talk. He told us in surprising detail what it was like growing up thinking that it was normal behavior to hurt people with little or no provocation. He talked about delivering drugs for his father, and about living in a group home and learning to always be aware of who and what were behind him.

He talked a little bit about the foster home he lived in which, while not particularly welcoming, was at least safe. He told us that, apart from meals, every privilege he wanted to enjoy had to be earned. Everything from daily showers, to a night out, to use of the family car had to be purchased with extra chores.

He told us about going to college on government grants, and about Esme. He smiled nostalgically as he told us how sweet and gentle she was, the opposite of everything he had ever known, and then his eyes took on a haunted look as he described the night he had hurt her. He went into detail, describing how he had pushed her over a chair, slammed her head into a wall, and twisted her arm behind her until he felt her wrist snap.

It was almost like he was trying to make Edward hate him, and the more he talked, the angrier Edward became. By the time Carlisle finished describing the encounter, Edward's eyes were flashing furiously. I was afraid the situation was about to explode into a serious confrontation, but Edward just took a deep breath and let it out, grinding his teeth. He reached out and snatched the barely-touched pint of ice cream out of Carlisle's hands.

"You've lost your Ben and Jerry's privileges until further notice," he said seriously.

One corner of Carlisle's mouth twitched, and he gave a nod of acknowledgment.

"So that's it, huh?" Edward asked. "That's why you took off? Or is there more?"

Carlisle shook his head. "That's all."

"And you couldn't have sent a fucking birthday card?" he grumbled, taking a bite of Carlisle's ice cream. "'Sorry I'm an asshole, son, here's five bucks.'"

Another smile threatened to break over Carlisle's face. "Maybe I should have."

"Thanks for the car, though," Edward smirked.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'll buy you another one if you'll get rid of that motorcycle."

"Never gonna happen."

Carlisle shook his head ruefully. "I spend my whole life trying to keep you safe, and you buy motorcycles and run off to war-torn countries riddled with landmines."

Edward shrugged and took another big bite of ice cream, speaking with a full mouth. "Kids these days, with their motorcycles and their landmines." He swallowed back the ice cream. "So what happens now? I mean, are you giving me your excuses so you can go back to ignoring me, or what?"

Carlisle licked his lips nervously. "I guess that's up to you. As Bella pointed out to me, you're not a child anymore. Now that you have all of the information, you can make your own decisions."

"So I guess you two patched things up, huh?" he observed, ignoring Carlisle's implied question.

Carlisle nodded slowly. "Does that bother you?"

He snorted. "I don't know what the fuck you're thinking, dating my roommate. It's kind of weird." He grimaced and set aside the half-melted ice cream. "All this junk food is making my stomach hurt. Jesus, Cullen, what kind of a parent are you? Don't you know you're supposed to make your kids wait until after dinner to have sweets?"

Carlisle forced a weak smile, but anxiety hung heavy on his features. He was waiting for an answer, and I could tell he was trying to find one in Edward's careless words.

"God, there's no pleasing you," I teased Edward, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"Sure there is." He rose and moved to the closet to collect his things. "Lobster. Why don't you two go find some me some shellfish, and I'll steam them for us back at the apartment." He shrugged into his jacket and waved happily before disappearing out the front door.

Carlisle stared blankly after him. "I don't know what that means."

I stood up and grabbed his hand, pulling him up with me. "I think it means you're invited to dinner," I said. "Come on. He doesn't usually take no for an answer when he gets like this, so we'd better go find us some lobster."


	21. Honour Thy Father

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

* * *

><p><strong>21. Honour Thy Father<strong>

Carlisle was surprisingly picky about the lobsters. He refused to buy them from a grocery store, and instead drove out to the waterfront and found a market stall selling freshly-caught shellfish. Even then, he spent a long time selecting the largest, liveliest specimens available.

I couldn't tell if he was stalling or if he was just really determined to make everything perfect for the dinner with Edward.

Once we had the lobsters, we drove separate cars back to my apartment. Carlisle arrived first, but he waited for me in the parking lot, pacing anxiously next to his car. I joined him as soon as I arrived and took the heavy bag of lobsters from him, setting it on the trunk of his car for a moment. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly, trying to ease his tension a little bit.

"Don't be worried," I murmured. "This is a good thing, right? If Edward asked you to come for dinner, he must want to get to know you a little more."

He gave me a half smile and kissed my forehead. "I'm glad you're here."

"Try to relax," I said, grabbing the lobster bag again. "Edward is really fun once you get to know him."

We headed inside and found Edward standing at the stove, stirring something in a small sauce pan. Another large pot steamed next to it, and his cell phone lay on the counter.

"Mom, they're here, I have to go," he said when we walked in.

"They're there?" a voice asked over the phone's speaker. "Let me talk to Carlisle for a moment."

"What the fuck do you need to talk to him for?"

"Edward Anthony, you watch your language," the voice chastised sharply from the phone. "And don't argue with me. Take me off speaker phone and let me talk to your father."

"Why, you want to keep a few more secrets from me?" he grumbled, but he obediently changed the phone settings and handed it to Carlisle.

"Esme?" he murmured. ". . . Yes, that's right . . . I know . . . believe me, I noticed."

I tuned out his conversation and handed Edward the plastic bag. "I hope they meet your standards," I told him. "Carlisle took great pains to get the best ones."

Edward reached into the bag and fished out the first lobster, examining the dark, mottled brown creature. "Now that's a nice-looking tail," he said approvingly. "Excellent." He set it into a bowl on the counter and found a pair of scissors, quickly snipping off the rubber bands around the lobster's claws. He used a pair of tongs to pick the creature up, and he dipped its head into the boiling pot of water on the stove. He slowly counted to ten, then pulled the now lifeless creature back out of the water and dropped it back in the bowl.

I shuddered. "I really shouldn't watch this process."

"Why not?" Edward asked with a smirk. "You don't like facing the fact that eating meat is basically murder?" He withdrew another lobster from the bag and repeated the process.

"Not particularly." I glanced at Carlisle, who was promising to call Esme later. He said goodbye, then hung up the phone and replaced it on the counter next to Edward.

"What can I do to help?" he asked with a tentative smile.

"I've got this," Edward said, dismissing us with a wave of his hand. "You two go sit down. I'm sure you've got plenty to talk about.  
>Carlisle looked like he wanted to argue, but he finally just nodded. "Thank you, Edward."<p>

Edward flashed him a bright grin, and Carlisle took my hand and moved into the living room.

I cringed as soon as I noticed the papers scattered across the coffee table. It looked like Edward had made a thorough search through Carlisle's file after I left, and the contents were spread out in plain view. I hurriedly moved to them and started gathering them up, trying to play it off as a quick tidying, but I didn't quite manage it. Carlisle's hand covered mine as I was grabbing his grade school record, stilling my movements. He took the paper from me, saying nothing.

I kept my head down as I gathered up the rest of it and stuffed it back into the folder. I heard Carlisle move to the couch and sit, but I made no move to join him.

"Bella," he said softly, his voice devoid of emotion.

I chanced a peek at him. He was staring at the paper in his hands, his face as blank as his voice.

"Where did you get this?"

I took a deep breath and moved to sit with him, determined to face him like an adult. "From a friend of Rosalie's," I said, my voice quivering more than I would have liked.

He held out his hand for the folder, and I surrendered it reluctantly. He opened it and started reading through the disorganized documents, his frown growing deeper with each one.

I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye, and I looked up to see Edward standing by the table, smirking darkly. My eyes widened involuntarily when it dawned on me that he had left those documents out on purpose, and had intentionally sent us in here so that Carlisle would see them.

_That son of a bitch!_

I didn't know whether to be angry or hurt. I had been trying to help him, and now he was sabotaging my relationship with Carlisle?

Edward caught my expression, and quickly looked away, a slightly guilty expression flashing across his face before he disappeared into the kitchen again.

I turned back to Carlisle and waited until he had seen everything in the file before I tried to explain. "I'm sorry," I said quickly when he looked up from the last page. "It's all Jacob's fault. And Rosalie's—she's a bad influence on him."

He watched me silently, unamused by my attempt at humor.

I bit my lip anxiously. "You never talked about yourself, and I was always too afraid to ask," I admitted. "The secrecy kind of bugged Jake and Rose, so they had Rose's friend do a background check." I gazed at him, silently pleading for understanding. "I didn't ask them to, but honestly, I was kind of glad they did. All I wanted was to know you better."

Carlisle closed the folder and set it aside on the end table. "Why were you afraid to ask me?"

I blew out a frustrated breath. "I don't know," I said. And I didn't. It wasn't like he had ever done anything to hurt me, but he did tend to pull away from me when hard questions were asked, and that was more painful than I liked to admit. "Things were just easier when we weren't talking about the past."

He leaned forward on his knees, staring blankly at the wall across the room. For a few moments he didn't say anything, and then he took a deep breath and sat back. He slid an arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him, leaning his head on mine.

"I never talked about it because I didn't want you to be afraid of me," he murmured. "But that doesn't seem to have worked very well."

"I'm not afraid of you," I protested.

"You were afraid to ask me questions. And you're afraid to talk to me about this now."

I couldn't really deny that, so I just snuggled further into his chest. "I didn't want to do anything to push you away. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said softly. "And I will continue to love you, even if I'm upset. That, I'm afraid, is something I haven't been very good at showing you."

"It doesn't really fit with the kind of relationship we negotiated," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a hard laugh. "I think we can agree that wasn't one of our better ideas."

I smiled against his chest. I very much liked hearing him say that a temporary relationship was a bad idea. "So is this us making a real go of it, then?" I asked hopefully.

He pulled back a little, a look of deep discontent on his face. "Do you understand what you're giving up by being with me, Bella? I can't give you a normal life."

"Who ever said I wanted normal?"

"I can't give you children," he said softly. "I can't justify trying to raise a family, knowing what I know about myself."

"Who ever said I wanted children?" I countered again. "Look, Carlisle, I'm sure the whole nuclear family thing is great, and I probably would have enjoyed it if things had worked out that way for me. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't enjoy a different kind of life just as much."

"I'm afraid," he admitted, his sad eyes meeting mine. "In ten years, when all your friends have families, I'm afraid that you'll feel cheated out of what might have been."

"In ten years," I said earnestly, "if I never had the chance to have a real relationship with you, I _know_ I'll feel cheated out of what might have been."

He pulled me close again, tucking me against his body. "This is really what you want?"

I nodded, knowing he would feel the motion against his chest.

He kissed the top of my head, his warm breath fluttering through my hair, and his hand slid up my arm and wrapped gently around the back of my neck.

"We're going to have to learn to be more honest with each other," I said.

He sighed softly. "Be patient with me. That's not a habit I've ever tried to cultivate."

"You know that's kind of creepy, right?"

"Believe me, I know."

We sat quietly after that, just holding each other and enjoying being together, until Edward announced that dinner was ready. He waited for us to take seats at the table before bringing out two plates and setting them down, one in front of me and one at his empty chair.

I smiled down at the food, feeling very hungry all of a sudden. My plate was piled high with the lobster—now cooked to a bright, vibrant red—along with a buttery herb sauce and a salad of mixed greens and bright, colorful vegetables, lightly coated in a vinaigrette dressing.

"Wow," I said approvingly, "this looks incredible."

Edward grinned and headed back into the kitchen to retrieve the third plate. He set it in front of Carlisle, smiling proudly, and took his seat.

My mood soured immediately at the sight of Carlisle's plate. The lobster on it was still a dark, inky brown, and obviously hadn't been cooked. Beside it, a limp pile of iceberg lettuce sat alone, no dressing or other vegetables mixed with it.

"Edward—" I began, but Carlisle touched my knee beneath the table and shook his head.

Edward raised his eyebrows, still smiling blandly.

Carlisle cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, but chose not to engage. "So, Edward," he said with forced casualness, "I imagine you have plenty of interesting stories from your time in Africa."

"Definitely," he said, digging into his salad. "Angola was amazing—in spite of the landmines."

"What made you decide to serve in the Peace Corps?"

Edward launched into an explanation of how he had met a recruiter while volunteering for a local charity, but he stopped in the middle of his narrative and fixed Carlisle with a questioning look. "What's the matter? Not hungry?"

I could practically see Carlisle biting his tongue as he picked up his fork and speared a few sad leaves of lettuce. He brought them to his lips without a word of complaint, though, and pushed them into his mouth.

Edward smirked. "So anyway, I started telling the recruiter about working for Marcus. . . ."

I glared at Edward. I hadn't touched my dinner either, but he never said a word to me. I extracted a forkful of meat from the tail of my lobster and offered it to Carlisle, but he just shook his head, his attention on his son.

Dinner was uncomfortable.

When we were finished eating, Carlisle rose and started collecting the dishes. He scraped all of the plates into the trash, and started cleaning up the kitchen. Edward and I joined him, Edward still chattering happily about Angola as we tidied up. Once the kitchen was clean, Carlisle and I moved back to the living room and sat together on the couch.

"You guys want a beer?" Edward asked, pulling open the refrigerator.

I shook my head—not that it mattered. Edward was ignoring me completely, only looking to Carlisle for an answer.

"Thank you, no," Carlisle said.

"Sure you do." Edward grabbed two bottles and popped them open, setting one in front of Carlisle on the coffee table. He moved to the television and turned on a video game, then settled down to play with his back against the coffee table

Carlisle cringed at the game. Edward's avatar was running around simulated city streets, beating people up and stealing cars.

"So I have a question," Edward said, not looking away from the television. "If you couldn't have a relationship with my mom without, you know, beating the shit out of her . . . what makes you think you can have one with Bella?" He glanced back with a bright smile. "Or do you just not care whether she gets hurt?"

Carlisle shifted uncomfortably, slipping an arm around my waist. "To be honest, I didn't intend for this to last," he confessed. "It has been my habit to keep my relationships brief, and when Bella and I started seeing each other, it was with the understanding that it was temporary."

"But. . . ." Edward prompted.

"But I decided it was time to try again," he said. "I've had twenty years of therapy since I was with your mother, not to mention twenty years of paying the price for my mistakes." Carlisle looked at me, his warm blue eyes gazing into mine. "Besides, Bella is special. She has a way of centering me that I've never come across before."

"So, you love her more than you loved my mom."

Carlisle looked pained. "Edward, that's not possible."

"So, less, then?" He cast a smirk over his shoulder before turning back to his game.

I kicked the coffee table, jostling it against his back. "Quit being a pain."

He turned back to me with a wide smile. "I don't have to listen to you. You're not my real mom."

I rolled my eyes at him.

"So Mom seems all Team Bella," he said, turning back to his game. "Is that going to be weird for you, if your ex and your girlfriend are BFFs?"

Carlisle ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered. "Of course not."

"No? Not worried about jealousy? Catfights? Aggravated hair-pulling?"

Carlisle sighed. "I discussed it with your mother. She was very supportive of our relationship."

"Huh," Edward said. "Sorry, Bella. Looks like my mom doesn't care if you get hurt either."

"I'm not worried," I answered pointedly.

"Yeah, Jacob said you were pretty reckless about the whole thing." He looked back over his shoulder at Carlisle. "You should come play with me."

I saw the muscle flex in Carlisle's jaw as he glanced at the screen. "No, thank you."

Edward met his gaze stubbornly. "Get the fuck down here and bond with your son," he snapped.

Carlisle glanced between him and the television in indecision, but finally he shook his head. "I'm not playing that."

Edward gave him a long, speculative look, then stood up and moved to the game console. He extracted the game and tucked it back into its case, then chucked the game across the room and into the kitchen. It bounced off of the wall and fell into the trash can.

"How about a racing game?" he asked, extracting a new case from his collection.

Carlisle stood and accepted the controller that Edward held out to him, and the two of them settled beside each other on the floor. Edward started the game, and they faced off against one another.

Carlisle was better than I was, but not by much.

"Dude, you suck at this!" Edward laughed happily as his digital car lapped his father's. "You need practice. I'm assigning you homework—thirty minutes of play every day."

Carlisle laughed as he struggled to catch up, and I was glad that he seemed to be enjoying himself. "Will you be joining me for these practice sessions?" he asked with a quick glance at Edward.

"Of course. Who else is going to show you how it's done? Bella?"

"Hey," I grumbled defensively. "I'm not _that_ bad."

Edward laughed, and his car veered off of the track, giving Carlisle a chance to pass him while he righted himself.

"Bella, keep distracting him," Carlisle ordered.

The tense atmosphere lightened considerably as they played, which I suspected was a large part of why Carlisle continued to compete with Edward in one challenge after another. At Carlisle's disapproval, three more games went straight into the trash, a response which thoroughly puzzled me. Carlisle never once asked Edward to get rid of them, but if he declined to play a game, Edward tossed it.

I was completely lost.

Finally, a little after ten o'clock, Carlisle handed his controller back to Edward. "It's getting a little late for the old men in the room," he said. "I should be getting home." He smiled warmly at his son as he stood up. "Thank you for the games, Edward. I thoroughly enjoyed them."

Edward scrambled to his feet as Carlisle moved to kiss me goodnight. "You're leaving? I thought you would stay with Bella tonight."

Carlisle paused, looking between Edward and me. "That wouldn't make you uncomfortable?"

"Why should it?"

Carlisle's eyes met mine in an unspoken question.

"I'd like you to stay," I said. "If you want to."

He smiled softly. "All right."

Edward looked relieved, but he covered it quickly with a bright smile. "Great! Don't let the bedbugs bite!" He flopped down in front of the TV and started playing his game again.

Carlisle frowned, clearly confused by Edward's bizarre behavior, but he shrugged it off and turned to me expectantly.

"I'll be right in," I promised him. I waited until he had disappeared down the hall and I could hear water running in the bathroom before rounding on Edward.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, moving around the coffee table to stand over him, my hands braced on my hips.

He looked innocently up at me. "Playing EchoChrome."

"I thought you wanted this," I said, ignoring his feigned ignorance.

"I do." He set down his controller and stood, grabbing the empty beer bottles from the coffee table and carrying them to the trash.

"Then what was with the bullshit at dinner?"

He smirked. "You mean when I put as much effort into preparing his food as he did into raising me? I know, that was some pretty funny shit."

"I didn't think it was funny. In fact, I was kind of embarrassed. I spent all afternoon telling Carlisle he would like you if he gave you a chance, and then you go and pull a stunt like that."

He looked away guiltily.

"And while we're on the subject? I went to bat for you, just like I said I would, and you thank me by taking shots at my relationship? That is _not_ cool."

"Hey, I made a valid point," he said. "After listening to him talk about what he did to my mom, I would think you might be a little bit more careful."

"_Lay off_ of our relationship," I ordered.

He just grinned.

I turned away with a huff and went to join Carlisle. He was just leaving the bathroom as I stepped in to brush my teeth, and he gave me a brief kiss as he passed me, smiling warmly. I smiled back, biting at my lip as a little thrill ran up my spine. I was beyond excited to have him with me again, and I was eager to get to the bedroom, to see him back in my bed where he belonged, naked and ready for me.

He wasn't naked _or_ ready for me when I finished brushing my teeth and slipped into the bedroom, though. Instead he was pacing the length of the room, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

"Yes, Esme, I _know_ he's testing me, but I haven't the first idea how I'm supposed to respond." He paused, running a hand through his hair as he listened. "I can't set him limits, he's twenty-one years old . . . He doesn't even know me." He glanced at me and frowned. "I need to go. I'll talk to you another time."

He said goodbye and hung up, holding out an arm to me. I stepped into his embrace, giving him a coy smile, and tugged at his tie.

"So I have a question for you," I murmured in a low, seductive voice.

He tossed his phone aside and looked down at me. "What's that?"

I slowly tugged off his tie and threw it carelessly onto the dresser, then gave him a teasing smile as I ran my hands up his chest. "What's with the Berty-Cullen man love?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, sounding amused.

I grinned at him, popping open the buttons on his shirt. "He was awfully mad at me when he told me you were leaving USC."

Carlisle frowned warily. "He didn't give you any problems, did he?"

"He tried. I think I set him straight, but I might ask you to help me out if he doesn't back off. Of course . . ." I hesitated, biting my lip anxiously. "Maybe it's not a problem anymore. I mean, you're staying, aren't you?"

His eyebrows pulled together, but he nodded. "I suppose I am."

"Good." I pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "So? What is it with you two?"

He chuckled dismissively. "Berty and I have something of an accidental friendship," he said. "It has less to do with the two of us having any common interests than it does with us having a common disconnection."

I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

"Neither of us have friends among the faculty," he explained. "We don't go to their parties, and we don't get invited to drinks after work."

"Why not?"

"For me, it's because they know I'll say no," he said, kicking off his shoes. "I've always felt more in control of myself if I didn't have an emotional investment in those around me."

"And for Dr. Berty?"

The corners of Carlisle's mouth quirked up in a smile. "He's completely insufferable. No one can tolerate his company."

"So . . ." I surmised, reading between the lines a little, "you're friends with Dr. Berty because he's not particularly likeable, and you don't want to like anyone?"

"Essentially," he said with a small smile.

I grinned, running my hands up and down his solid chest. "That's messed up."

He wrapped his arms loosely around my waist, letting one hand drift down over my backside. "It was working for me," he said, his voice low and seductive, "until you came along and got under my skin."

I hooked a finger in the waistband of his pants and started pulling him back toward the bed. "Let's see what else I can get under tonight, what do you say?"

Carlisle caught the hem of my shirt and pulled it off of me before I managed to reach the bed, his eyes roaming over my body. "I've missed this," he murmured, running his hand over the bare skin of my side as I settled onto the bed. I scooted backward and he followed me, crawling over me as I settled onto the pillows.

"What have you missed?"

His eyes smoldered as they raked over me, his hand caressing my stomach and then sliding up to cup my breast. "Touching your skin," he murmured. "Tasting you." He leaned close and trailed his tongue lightly along my bottom lip, letting his weight settle on top of me. "Feeling your body beneath me."

I moaned, running my hands up his muscled back. "Don't leave anymore," I mumbled into his shoulder. "I don't like sleeping without you here."

"Forgive me, Bella," he whispered, trailing kisses along my neck and chest. "Tell me you'll be my girl again."

"I never stopped."

He groaned and hitched my leg over his hip, letting me feel his physical reaction to our close proximity. His erection pressed firmly into me, and I found myself rocking my hips rhythmically against his without having consciously decided to do so. My body simply remembered him, and reacted instinctively. His fingers wound themselves in my hair and pulled my head back, exposing my neck to his hungry kisses.

A loud knock on the door made me jump, and Carlisle stilled. He blew out a frustrated breath and rolled off of me.

"What do you want?" I snapped through the door.

"I'm afraid of the dark," Edward's voice called from the other side.

"I'm going to kill him," I said darkly.

Carlisle winced. "Bella, don't say that."

"Sorry," I muttered, rolling off of the bed. I found my shirt on the floor and tugged it on, stalking over to the door. I swung it open and glared at Edward. "What?"

"I had a bad dream," he said with a grin. "Can I come sleep between you guys?"

"Set one foot inside this room and I'll take your X-Box up to the roof and throw it off."

He gave me an appreciative look. "You've got the wicked step-mother bit down pat."

"What do you want?" I demanded again.

"I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm going out," he said innocently. "And to invite you along, just in case you don't actually want to be the kind of losers who go to bed at ten o'clock on a Friday night."

"I prefer to be a loser."

Edward rolled his eyes. "I figured _you'd_ say that." He looked past me, to where Carlisle was now sitting up on the bed. "What about you, old man? Want to go have a little fun?"

Carlisle hesitated, looking torn as his gaze shifted between the two of us. "Not tonight," he finally said.

Edward's smile fell. "You really don't want to come with me?"

"We'll go out tomorrow," Carlisle said anxiously, but I could see by his expression that he was second-guessing his decision.

Edward's eyes suddenly flashed with anger. "Great," he snapped. "It's nice to know where I fall on your list of priorities." He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Carlisle looking confused and pained as he stared after his son.

I sighed heavily and closed the door. "Don't let him get to you," I said as I crawled back into bed. "He's being a pain on purpose, but you can't let him make you feel bad."

"Why not?" Carlisle asked bleakly. "I deserve it.

"You deserve to have a son who acts his age." I kissed his shoulder, running a soothing hand over his chest. "Let him take the night to get used to things, and then try again with him in the morning. Hopefully he'll be a little less spastic when he's had some sleep."

Carlisle nodded sadly and slumped back onto the pillows again.

I nipped experimentally at his ear, but his former flame of desire had been effectively doused by Edward's interruption. He settled his hand over mine and brought my palm to his lips in what felt very much like an apology.

Edward was suddenly right at the top of my shit list.

I stripped out of my clothes, resigning myself to a sexless evening, while Carlisle shed the rest of his as well. We both slid between the sheets, and he pulled me back against him, his arm wrapping protectively around me and his hand settling into its accustomed place around my neck.

It would have been great, had I not still been all keyed up and unable to find a release. I nestled my ass into the curve of Carlisle's body, aching for fulfillment, but refusing to be so insensitive to Carlisle's situation as to push him for more. Instead I tried to take comfort from the warm weight of his arm, and I drifted off to sleep fantasizing about yanking every one of those crazy bronze hairs out of Edward's scalp, one by one.


	22. House Upon the Sand

************Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.************

* * *

><p><strong>22. House Upon the Sand<strong>

Waking up the next morning was one of the best experiences I'd had in weeks. The familiar tone of Carlisle's cell phone alarm roused me, and for just a few seconds I was able to enjoy the warmth of his body pressed against mine. His hand had fallen onto the pillow in front of me during the night, and as he was slowly pulled from sleep by the chiming of his phone, he raised it and stroked his fingers lightly over my neck in an automatic gesture.

I poked out my bottom lip as he pushed himself up and disentangled our limbs. "Stay with me," I pouted sleepily, not opening my eyes.

"Tempting," he mumbled back.

I searched blindly behind me until I found his arm, and tried to tug him back down with me. He chuckled and leaned back in for a kiss, but then stood up with a quiet groan.

"I'm afraid I need the meditation this morning," he said, moving to the dresser to pull on his running clothes. "But don't go anywhere. I'll be back in an hour, and I'll take you to breakfast."

I didn't argue, but I had no intention of going out when he got back from his run. Edward had managed to get between us the night before, but he wasn't exactly a morning person, and there was no way he would be awake any time soon to do it again—particularly after he had been out drinking. He had gone out a few times over the last couple of weeks and I was pretty confident, based on his previous habits, that he wouldn't be up before noon.

I drifted off to sleep again, and woke to the quiet sounds of the dresser drawers being eased open. I peeked sleepily over at Carlisle, sweaty and disheveled in his running clothes, as he gathered a pair of boxer shorts and jeans into his arms. I was puzzled for just a moment; Carlisle didn't usually collect his clothes before getting in the shower. But as I smiled sleepily at the memory of him sauntering casually naked from the bathroom into the bedroom, I realized that probably wasn't a good idea anymore.

I silently cursed Edward to the fiery pits of hell for taking that visual away from me.

I considered crawling out of bed and following Carlisle into the shower, but again, Edward stopped me. The bathroom was a shared space, and the idea of fooling around with Carlisle in the same shower his son used was just . . . weird. So I let my unwelcome roommate come between us again, and I waited impatiently for Carlisle to get cleaned up.

Once he slipped back into my bedroom, however, he was fair game. I eyed his lean, solid frame appreciatively as he closed the door behind him, letting my eyes take in his bare chest and stomach. I even admired his body beneath the jeans, deciding he looked good enough in them that I might have to recant my earlier damning of Edward.

Carlisle noticed me watching him and quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't mind me," I smiled, snuggling deeper into my pillow. "I'm just enjoying the view."

He returned my smile and moved to the bed, tugging back the sheets and leaving me exposed. "Turn-about is fair play."

"You call this fair?" I argued. "When you're all covered up by your jeans?" I pushed myself up enough to grab the waistband of his pants and pull him closer, yanking open the button. I quickly shoved them down, along with his boxers, and he kicked them off and crawled onto the bed next to me.

"Satisfied?" he asked teasingly.

"Not even close."

He pushed me back onto the bed and eased himself over me, leaning down to press slow, sensual kisses along the underside of my jaw. "My girl has gotten demanding in my absence," he murmured against my skin.

"It's your own fault for being absent." I slid my hand between us, running it down his firm stomach and grasping his semi-erect member. I let my fingers explore the texture of his skin, every now and then giving him a few slow strokes, appreciating the feel of his erection growing in my hand. Carlisle moaned at my touch, his own hand moving to explore more of my body. He ran it up and down my side and over my stomach before venturing up to cup my breast. I whimpered as I felt my nipple pebble against his palm, and he answered by flicking his fingers teasingly over the hard nub.

"Fuck, Carlisle!" I hissed, arching my back to push against him. I had missed having his callused hand running over my skin, and I wordlessly begged for more as I stroked and fondled his cock.

Carlisle's mouth was traveling slowly down my neck, nipping and sucking as he went. He eased himself down my body, moving beyond my reach, and I brought my hand up to tangle in his wet hair as his teeth scraped my collarbone. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his lips brushing over my skin. "I can't tell you how I've missed you, my love. How I've ached to touch you again." He slid a second hand up and pressed both palms against my breasts, his mouth traveling down the valley between them.

My fingers in his hair curled involuntarily into a fist as my other hand explored the muscles along his side and back. I wanted more of him, wanted to feel his body against mine, wanted his weight pressing me down into the bed. "I need you," I gasped in a wholly inadequate expression of what I craved. "Please, Carlisle . . . closer."

His only response was to let one hand drift down over my stomach and slide it between my thighs. His fingers massaged my clitoris, teasing my heightened nerves and drawing a breathless groan from me. I shuddered with anticipation as he swirled one fingertip around my entrance and then dipped it inside, taunting me with short, shallow thrusts.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, then followed his words up with a light nip of my nipple.

I shook my head, tightening my grip in his hair. "Not enough."

A second finger joined the first, but he continued to keep his strokes light and shallow, and I whimpered in frustration. "More," I begged. "Please."

"My, my," he breathed, pausing to tease my nipple with his tongue. "You've gotten greedy, haven't you?" He suddenly plunged his fingers into me, hard and deep, and I moaned and writhed beneath him.

"Don't stop . . . so good . . ."

I began to wonder if he was intentionally tormenting me when he immediately drew his fingers back, leaving me feeling empty and unsatisfied. I growled in frustration, but he only smiled beneath his smoldering eyes and crawled back up until he was hovering over me, his nose grazing over my chin and along my jaw.

"Tell me, Bella," he whispered. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

I shivered as his warm breath washed over my face. "I want you to fuck me," I said determinedly. "I want to feel your cock pounding my pussy."

He moaned and eased between my thighs, letting his weight settled onto me. I sighed deeply at the sensation. His body felt so warm and strong on top of me, and I finally felt like I was back where I belonged. I bit my lip in anticipation as he lined himself up and pressed the head of his cock against my entrance.

"Please," I mumbled, letting my eyes slip closed. "Please, I need you."

His lips met mine and his tongue pushed into my mouth as his hips jerked forward and he thrust inside of me. I moaned and kissed him back eagerly, rocking my hips to match his rhythm. My hands dug into the skin of his back, trying to get closer, to crush my body harder against his. His hard erection at once filled me with satisfaction and with a desperate ache for fulfillment.

"Harder," I gasped as soon as he broke the kiss. "I need more."

He complied immediately, increasing the power of his movements, slamming roughly into me. I cried out wantonly, letting the pleasure wash over me and carry me along.

"I can't let you go," he rasped in my ear. "You own me, Bella. I don't know how to be without you anymore."

"I don't want to be without you, either," I murmured in answer, catching his earlobe between my lips. I grazed my teeth over it and he bucked into my sharply. His hands slid under my back and he clutched me to him as he continued to plunge forcefully into my body.

"You're so warm," he moaned softly, "so wet, so _fucking_ tight." His pace increased as he clutched me to him, alternately sucking at my neck and whispering in my ear. "I love fucking this sweet little body, Bella. I love feeling you wrapped around me, squeezing my cock."

I shuddered at his words and urged him faster with the rocking of my hips and the needy, unintelligible sounds that escaped from my throat. His lips found mine again, and our tongues tangled together as I moaned into his mouth. I could feel the tension in his muscles, his whole frame taut and trembling. He was close, wanting to come, holding back for me as his insistent thrusts urged me closer to my own orgasm. He withdrew one hand from beneath me and found my breast again, pinching and fondling my nipple, making me gasp in pleasure. I was close too—close enough that my own body was starting to tremble. I wanted it badly, and my nails dug into his back as he drove into me over and over again. I squeezed my eyes shut, breaking away from his kiss and panting for breath as the tight coil inside me released and I bucked sharply against him. Waves of pleasure rocked through me as my body took over and arched spasmodically beneath him. I had just enough presence of mind to recognize his own shuddering cry of ecstasy as I used Carlisle's body to bring me to completion.

I sagged back onto the mattress, sated and boneless, and Carlisle let himself go limp on top of me. He pressed his face into the hollow of my neck, his lips kissing weakly as his panting breath blew across my skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered breathlessly. "I'm sorry for last night . . . for the last two weeks . . . I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," I murmured. I brought up a hand to run through his wet hair again, threading through the soft, golden locks. "Just don't leave."

His answering whisper fluttered against my ear and filled me with warmth. "Never again."

We took a few more minutes to enjoy the closeness before Carlisle finally rolled off of me and let me up. I took my turn in the shower, and then joined him at the kitchen table where he sat with a cup of coffee in hand, his laptop open in front of him. It was strange to see an email provider on the screen instead of a foreign news broadcast.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously, wandering into the kitchen and pouring myself a some coffee.

"Just a few end-of-term chores. Answering questions from my students about the final exams, writing letters of recommendation."

It was probably ridiculous that hearing about such mundane details made me so happy, but returning to business as usual with Carlisle was the fulfillment of a fantasy I had been playing over and over again in my head for the past two weeks.

He looked up at me expectantly. "Feel like going out to breakfast?"

I grimaced. "I probably shouldn't. I have some end-of-term stuff to do myself, with finals starting next week."

Carlisle smiled, gathering up his coffee and his laptop as he stood. "I guess we'd better get to it." He moved toward our accustomed place on the couch and jerking his head in an invitation for me to join him.

I grinned and bit my lip, detouring into my bedroom to grab my books before settling down next to him and snuggling against his side. His arm wrapped around me, his fingers settling over the pulse point at my throat, and I sighed in contentment. Things were back to the way they were supposed to be, and Edward could go fuck himself.

The morning passed pleasantly and quietly. Carlisle made two calls to graduate students to discuss their thesis papers in greater detail, but his voice didn't disturb the calm serenity surrounding us. It was low and velvety, infused with a quiet confidence that only added to the peacefulness of the environment. I had managed to get through the bulk of my studying for my three easier finals, and I had just started on stylistics when Edward's door opened and he stumbled into the living room, stooped and bleary-eyed.

I felt Carlisle tense slightly beside me, and he withdrew the arm that lay over my shoulders. He nudged me gently, scooting me a couple of inches away from him, and I tried valiantly not to be offended.

I was unsuccessful.

"Good morning, Edward," Carlisle murmured.

Edward just grunted and slouched to the kitchen to make fresh coffee.

Carlisle frowned after him. "Hung over?"

"As usual," I muttered uncharitably.

Concern shone in his eyes. "Does he do this often?"

I shrugged. "Kind of. I figure he'll probably pull it back once next semester starts and he has classes to attend."

Carlisle nodded, but he looked dissatisfied. His eyes returned to his computer screen, but I got the impression he wasn't actually reading his email.

After a few minutes Edward shuffled into the living room again, coffee in hand, and sank down onto the couch next to me. He sipped from his mug and set it on the coffee table before slumping down and leaning his head on my shoulder.

"You guys missed out last night," he said, his voice raw and tired. "This drunk-ass girl jumped up on the bar and started stripping. She got her bra off before the bouncers managed to get her down."

Carlisle's frown deepened, but he didn't answer, and I chose to keep my mouth shut as well. Edward had shown himself to be somewhat volatile when Carlisle was around, and I didn't want to say anything that would start an argument.

"You two are quiet," he muttered.

"We like the quiet." I reached up to pat him on the head, and he groaned and slapped my hand away.

Carlisle stood wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen. After a moment he returned with a tall glass of water and two painkillers. He handed them to Edward before taking his seat next to me again.

"Thanks," Edward mumbled. He raised his head long enough to swallow the pills and gulp down the water, then twisted around until he was curled up on the couch beside me. He pushed my stylistics notes out of the way and pillowed his head on my lap.

"Do you need to go back to bed?" I asked him pointedly.

"Nope. I'm good right here."

I rolled up my notes and prepared to give Edward a good whack with them, but Carlisle took them out of my hand and unrolled them. He started quizzing me on some of the concepts I had scribbled down, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb his son.

We spent another half hour like that before Edward decided he was tired of it. "God, you two are boring," he complained, sitting up. "This is what you do on a Saturday?"

"The Saturday before finals? Yes."

Edward grumbled to himself and climbed to his feet, taking his cold coffee into the kitchen and throwing it out. He returned to the couch and dropped an arm around me, whacking Carlisle in the shoulder in the process. "Let's do something fun," he said. "You want to hit the beach?"

"Not today," Carlisle answered softly.

"Why not? You can do that shit later."

He gave Edward an apologetic look. "The longer I take to respond to my students, the less time they have to study the material. I have a responsibility to them."

"You had a responsibility to me too," Edward shot back, "but you didn't take that very seriously, did you?"

Carlisle cringed, the hands on his keyboard curling into fists. "I gave you the best I had to give," he said softly.

Edward rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You guys are _so_ boring."

"What is _with_ you?" I demanded in frustration, glaring at him. "When did you turn into such a whiny bitch? If you don't like what we're doing, go do something else."

Edward glowered at me and pushed himself to his feet, stalking off to his bedroom and slamming the door. After a moment he began pounding out scales on the keyboard in his room.

Carlisle sighed softly. "I wish you hadn't talked to him like that."

"And I wish you hadn't felt the need to stop touching me as soon as he walked in the room," I snapped. "What the hell was that?"

He shook his head and looked away. "He obviously has a problem with the two of us being together."

"Oh, he does not. He asked you to stay last night, didn't he?"

"He deliberately interrupted us last night," he reminded me.

I swallowed back a sudden rush of tears that threatened. "So what, are you calling it off again? Edward doesn't like it, so we're through?"

"No." He slid his arm around me and pulled me close again, tucking me against his chest. "That was a mistake, Bella, I know that. But I do want to be sensitive to his feelings."

"I don't," I muttered. "He's acting like a child, and the sooner he grows the fuck up, the less likely I am to try and get him evicted."

"He's my son—"

"And he's my roommate, but neither one of those things gives him an excuse to be a pain in the ass." I shook my head in bewilderment. "I don't know why you're putting up with this from him."

"It's no more than I deserve," he said hollowly.

I sighed heavily. "I disagree."

Carlisle pulled my head down on his shoulder and stroked my hair gently. "Please be patient with me," he murmured. "I just need some time to figure out where things stand between us."

The angry scales in the bedroom cut off abruptly, and Edward reappeared, the smile back on his face again. He went to the kitchen and returned with a pint of Ben and Jerry's, settling himself onto the coffee table and smirking at Carlisle as though daring him to object.

Carlisle said nothing, but I noticed that he didn't pull away from me again. That was progress, at least.

"So, Bella, are you coming out with us tonight?" Edward asked, opening his ice cream.

"Where?"

"To the bar," he smiled.

Carlisle shifted uncomfortably. "You're going out drinking again tonight?"

"So are you," he said, his face darkening into a glower. "At least you _said_ you were. Or was that just a lie to get me to leave you alone?"

Carlisle looked pained. "No, Edward, of course I'll go with you. But maybe we should do something else instead?"

"So it's conditional?" he demanded. "You'll only hang out with me if we're doing something you want to do?"

"Of course not."

Carlisle looked completely defeated, so I stepped in quickly. "If you want me to come, we can't go to a bar. I'm not twenty-one for another couple of weeks."

Edward grinned. "I heard a little rumor that the bouncers at The 901 Club let you in without checking your ID."

"Oh, _hell_ no." I shook my head stubbornly. "I'm not going there, not on your life."

"Aw, come on, Bella," Edward wheedled. "It wouldn't be the same without you there."

"I was only ever allowed in to see Mike. What makes you think they'll still let me in now that I'm not dating him?"

"I have faith in you," he said confidently. "Just bat those big ol' doe eyes at them, and they'll wave you right in."

"It's not like they'll let me drink with you," I protested. "The deal was that they let me in because they knew I wouldn't break the rules."

"So you're the designated driver," Edward shrugged. He arched an eyebrow at Carlisle. "You want her to come, don't you?"

Carlisle met my gaze with a pleading look. "It would be nice to have you there."

I sighed heavily. "Tell you what? We'll go to the Nine-Oh, and I'll try to get in, but if they don't let me then we'll all three go do something else."

"You have to actually _try_, though," Edward said. "No fake-ass token effort."

"Agreed."

Carlisle squeezed my shoulders and gave me a grateful look.

"You up for a race, old man?" Edward asked, taking a big bite of his ice cream.

Carlisle hesitated, his eyes on his computer screen. "Give me twenty minutes to finish up?"

"Deal," Edward grinned. "I should make lunch."

"How about I just order in?" Carlisle suggested dryly.

Edward snickered. "Yeah, that might work out better for you."

The rest of the day went a lot like that. Edward's constant push and pull exhausted me, but Carlisle seemed to have endless patience for it. Whatever Edward wanted, he eventually got, and he seemed to take great pleasure in making Carlisle give in to him. I spent most of the day biting my tongue, but I honored Carlisle's request and gave him time to try and make things work with his son.

It was worth it whenever I caught him smiling at Edward like his fondest wish had been fulfilled. He got frustrated, to be sure, but he still seemed thrilled to be given the chance do so.

I was less thrilled. By the time we were ready to go out that evening, I was grinding my teeth, and when Edward gave me an obvious once-over and asked disapprovingly, "Is that what you're wearing?" I barely held myself back from shoving a stiletto up his ass.

"It's a sports bar," I said, rolling my eyes. "We're not exactly going clubbing."

He smirked at me as he headed toward the door, beckoning Carlisle and me after him. "You never know, you might run into an ex-boyfriend or two. Come on."

He disappeared out the door, and I exchanged looks with Carlisle. "This is going to be a long night," I muttered.

"I really appreciate you coming along," he replied gratefully. He squeezed my hand, but I got the feeling it was more to reassure himself than me.

"Sure," I said, forcing myself to put on a positive face for his sake. "I'm an enabler, it's what I do." I winked at him to let him know I was teasing, and then pulled him outside to meet Edward at my truck. I unlocked the door, and Edward jumped quickly into the cab, scooting to the middle seat so he would be between Carlisle and me. I briefly considered dragging him out by his ear, but Carlisle was already climbing in beside him, so I contented myself with muttering curses under my breath as I rounded the truck.

The Nine-Oh was busy, crowded with students taking the opportunity to blow off some steam before finals week. Felix was manning the door, and he had just turned away a group of guys with bad fake IDs when we walked up.

He gave me a brilliant smile. "Bella!" he said brightly. "Long time no see, girl." His smile fell a little, and he quirked a curious eyebrow. "You're not here to see Mikey, are you?"

I grimaced. "No, is he here?"

Felix shook his head. "He quit yesterday. Said he's heading for New York."

"Really? He's moving on?"

"He's trying." Felix chucked my chin affectionately. "You really broke his heart. It's not so easy to bounce back from that."

I frowned guiltily down at the sidewalk, kicking the cement with the toe of my shoe. "I know."

"Come on, I'm not blaming you." He gave me a quick squeeze and ruffled my hair. "So are you twenty-one now? Flash me that license, baby."

"Um," I glanced back at Edward and Carlisle. "Actually, I'm not quite there. I was hoping I could talk you in to letting me in if I promise to be a good girl and only drink Coke."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "Bella, baby, you know I love you, but that's kind of pushing the line."

"She's our designated driver," Edward spoke up. "We want to get trashed tonight, and Bella offered to make sure we got home safe."

Felix sighed and gave me a stern look. "You stay where I can see you, and no stealing sips of your friends' beers, got it?"

I smiled at him and stretched up on my toes to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Felix. You're my favorite bouncer ever."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He quickly checked the guys' IDs and then waved us inside.

We found a table near the door that a group of girls had just vacated, and Carlisle pulled out a chair for me.

Edward nodded toward the bar. "Bottled or draft?"

"Draft is fine, thank you," Carlisle said as he settled next to me.

"Coke for you, Bella?"

I nodded.

Carlisle slid his arm around my shoulders as Edward made his way to the bar. "Honestly, Bella, is there anyone you can't charm?" he asked, his lips moving close to my ear so he could be heard over the volume of the baseball game on the television and the babble of voices around us. "Edward was right, all it takes is one look from you and these men just give you whatever you ask."

I smiled and turned, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. "Does it work on you?"

"Without a doubt."

"Good," I smiled. "Then quit letting Edward walk all over you."

He pulled away, but kept his arm around my shoulders as he stared after his son. "Was it a mistake, telling him everything?"

I hesitated. He sure was making it seem like one. "I don't think so," I finally said. "I think he's pissed at you, but I'm hoping that he gets over that before too long. This whole acting-out thing is getting tiresome."

"Dr. Cullen?"

I looked up to see two girls around my age approaching the table. It was a freckled redhead who had spoken, but the short one with dark ringlets fixed Carlisle with an adoring, almost slavish look.

"How are you?" the redhead asked brightly. "I didn't expect to run into you here, but maybe if we buy you a drink, you'll give us some tips on what we should study for the final."

Carlisle laughed genially, a low, warm sound that made my toes curl with desire. "I'll tell you without even having to be bribed. You should definitely spend a few extra minutes reviewing religion's role in the development of the social conscience."

"That's what you said in class," the brunette said with a pout that was obviously designed to look provocative.

"It's possible that I meant it," he smiled. He gestured to each of them in turn. "Liz, Vera, this is Bella."

The redhead, Liz, gave me a little fluttering wave, but Vera arched her eyebrow almost in challenge. "Your daughter?" she asked Carlisle with a simpering smile.

"My girlfriend," he corrected casually. I had no doubt that he was fully aware of Vera's little game, but he was very good at pretending not to notice her interest. I wondered if he had to do it often.

Carlisle's attention was drawn away by Edward, making his way back to us through the crowded bar. "But this is my son," he said proudly as Edward reached the table and set the drinks down.

Edward's eyes snapped to his, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Edward, meet Vera and Liz, two of my second year students."

Edward pulled his gaze reluctantly away from his father, but then smiled broadly at the girls. "Well, hello ladies," he grinned. "Perfect timing, I just got you your drinks." He slid the Coke can across the table to me, but pushed the two pints of beer in front of the girls and pulled out a chair for each of them.

I rolled my eyes, but my annoyance was tempered by the fact that Vera immediately refocused her fanatical gaze on Edward. "Thank you," she said breathily.

Carlisle smiled wryly at me. "I guess _I'm_ getting drinks for Edward and me," he laughed. He gave me a quick kiss and then rose and strode to the bar.

Edward flicked his eyes after his father as he took his seat again and leaned in close to the girls. "So, what are you ladies studying?"

"I'm going into Elementary Education," Liz said, her cheeks tinged slightly pink.

"I'd go back to elementary school if it meant I could have a teacher like you."

Liz's blush deepened. "I should probably tell you that I'm engaged." She held up her left hand, showing off the diamond ring on her finger."

"Ugh!" Edward clutched his chest dramatically. "I think I just died a little inside. Vera, baby, please tell me you're single, or I may not make it through the night."

"I'm single," she said, lowering her head and looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

"Thank god," he breathed dropping his hand in relief. "What's your major?"

"I'm undeclared." She gave him a coy smile. "Maybe I'm just waiting for some rich, handsome man to come and sweep me off my feet."

"Oh, so kind of like Bella," he said, shooting me a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. "Believe me, Edward, no amount of money in the world is worth putting up with _your_ whiny ass."

He turned a wounded look on Vera. "You see what I have to deal with? From my own father's girlfriend, even."

"Aw, poor baby." She poked out her lip in sympathy and ran her fingers through his hair. Edward sank into her touch with a grin, practically purring under her hands.

It was utterly ridiculous.

Liz seemed to think so too, and she tried to bring the conversation back to more rational territory. "What are you studying, Edward?"

"Nothing, yet. I start classes next month, and I figure I'll take a semester or two of gen ed before I lock myself into a major."

"You're a freshman?" she asked, surprised. "You look older than that to me."

He grinned widely. "I am. I took a couple of years off to serve in the Peace Corps. . . ."

I tuned him out after that, turning my attention to the bar where Carlisle was paying for two more drinks. I had a feeling Edward was going to get _a lot_ of mileage out of the Peace Corps thing.

Carlisle made his way back to us and sat down again, placing two new pints of beer in front of himself and Edward. Liz smiled at him.

"Edward was just telling us about going to Angola. You must be so proud of him."

"I was proud of him long before that," he said indulgently. "He's a straight A student, an all-star baseball player, an accomplished pianist and composer . . . he's been impressing people practically from the cradle."

"Not that you were around to see any of that," Edward said casually. He grabbed his glass and took a long drink.

Carlisle sat back, looking uncomfortable, and my blood boiled. It was bad enough for Edward to constantly be throwing his resentment around the way he did, but Carlisle was an intensely private person. For Edward to start airing his grievances in public was a low blow.

"I've got to say, though," Edward continued, "I can't really blame you. You've got a pretty cushy set-up here. No worries, no responsibilities, and hell—if I had students as hot as these girls, I don't think I'd be able to keep my hands off of them either."

Liz stood abruptly, shoving back her chair. "My fiancé will be here soon," she said. "We should probably get going."

"Good luck on your finals," Edward said cheerfully, as though he hadn't just deliberately made the conversation awkward for everyone.

Liz thanked him and hurried away, pulling Vera after her.

I glared at Edward. "This is the kind of thing that makes me regret ever bothering to help you out."

Carlisle put a restraining hand on my knee and shook his head slightly. "It's alright, Bella. I'm sure Edward has plenty of things he would like to say. He should be allowed to say them."

"I'm fine, thanks," he said blithely, taking another gulp of his beer.

"Have you been eating paint chips?" I demanded. "Was there something wrong with the water in Africa? Did you crash your motorcycle and sustain permanent brain damage?"

"Bella, please," Carlisle breathed solicitously.

"You don't have to put up with this," I told him. "He's not airing legitimate complaints, he's being a brat. You deserve to be treated with more respect than that."

"Oh, really?" Edward challenged. "Tell me, Bella, what did he do to earn my respect?"

"He gave up everything for you," I snapped, struggling to keep from raising my voice. "Were you not listening during the part where he said he _wanted_ a family? He left to keep you safe, Edward!"

"And who asked him to do that? He never gave _me_ a choice. He made decisions that affected my whole life without ever asking me what _I_ thought about it."

"That's what parents do!"

"That's enough," Carlisle said softly. "Edward, Bella is right. No child should ever be burdened with the kind of decision I had to make. But she was also right when she pointed out to me that you're not a child anymore, that you're fully capable of taking care of yourself. So now I _am_ giving you a choice."

Edward looked away, letting his eyes rest on his beer. After a moment he picked it up and chugged it, draining his glass, and then stood. "Anyone want another one?" he asked, but then strode away without waiting for an answer."

Carlisle sagged back and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I wish he would just tell me what he wants," he sighed.

I glared after him. "So do I."


	23. Wits' End

**A big thank-you to sleepyvalentina for doing some beta-work for this chapter for me. This chapter is much prettier for her efforts, and if there are errors, those are my doing.**

**Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**

* * *

><p><strong>23. Wits' End<strong>

Calling Edward on his bad behavior didn't help anything. He had a remarkable ability to ignore anything that didn't suit his purposes, and he was driving me absolutely up the wall. But Saturday night after we got home from the bar, he did something that gave me hope that things might get better.

He'd had plenty to drink and had spent the entire evening taking potshots at Carlisle. Once we got home and Carlisle disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for bed, I rounded on Edward. I was ready to rip him a new one, but the thoughtful smile on his face stopped me.

"Did you hear him?" he asked quietly as he sank down onto the couch. "He introduced me as his son."

I regarded him carefully, not quite sure where this was coming from.

"He didn't try to talk around it by only giving them my name or some shit. It was just, 'This is my son,' first thing."

I nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Do you really not see how important all this is to him?"

"For now, maybe." He shrugged, looking away.

I stared at him, stunned. Before that moment, it hadn't occurred to me that Edward's behavior might have been motivated by fear. He _was_ pushing Carlisle away, but not necessarily to hurt him. He was trying to protect himself from more disappointment.

"I know it's not true, you know," he said.

"What isn't true?"

"What I said about you being with him for his money." He met my gaze then, giving me a weak smile. "You couldn't be. He gives all his money to me."

I honestly didn't know what to say. I had missed this Edward—the sincere, honest person who had lived with me for two weeks and tried to help me get over my break-up. It was good to have him back, but I didn't trust him to stick around.

"Thank you," I said.

He just nodded and looked away again.

The next day he was back to being his old obnoxious self. He spent all afternoon sulking over Carlisle's refusal to go out with him again, heedless of his father's explanations that he had an early exam to administer. The day after that was the same. After Carlisle and I got home, Edward groused about having to spend the day by himself. When I reminded him that he hadn't seemed to mind being alone the week before, he stormed out in a huff.

He returned an hour later, carrying a large box and wearing an eager smile. "I got us a new video game to play," he said brightly. "It's called Rocksmith. It's like Guitar Hero only you actually learn to play the guitar, so, you know . . . it appeals to my over-achieving side."

They had three good hours after that, learning the game together, before asshole Edward returned and started antagonizing his father again.

It was hard to see the disappointment in Carlisle's eyes every time things started to sour between the two of them. He clung so hard to Edward that it always cut him deeply when he was reminded that his devotion was one-sided. The worst part, though, was his quiet acceptance of the situation. Carlisle believed he deserved his son's animosity, so he just swallowed the hurt and left himself open for more.

And he worried. Edward had started going out to bars every night, not returning until the early morning hours. He drank a lot when he was at home, too, and he had gone through a full bottle of vodka and most of a six-pack of beer in two days. Carlisle fretted constantly over his son's alcohol consumption, always on the verge of saying something but afraid to overstep his bounds.

It was Wednesday night when things finally came to a head—or early Thursday morning, really. Edward had left that evening after shouting at Carlisle for not making him a priority. He returned home around two-thirty in the morning, slamming the door and banging dishes and cabinet doors in the kitchen, rousing me out of a restless sleep. I slid out of bed, being careful not to wake Carlisle, and tugged on a pair of shorts and one of his T-shirts. I slipped quietly out the door and stalked to the kitchen.

"Do you think you could keep it down?" I growled. "We're trying to sleep."

Edward turned to me and grinned brightly. "Hey, Bella! Want a snack?"

"Will you be quiet? It would be really nice if you could be a little less of a douche. I have my stylistics exam tomorrow."

He snickered, staggering just a little. "Do you have any idea how nerdy you sound right now?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Naw." He opened the cabinet and reached for a glass, missing it on the first try. "I just had a couple extra, is all."

I frowned. "How did you get home?"

He filled the glass at the sink and took several long gulps before answering me. "I rode Vera."

"Excuse me?"

"You remember the vapid gold-digger we met at the bar the other night?"

I groaned. "Surely you have better sense than to hook up with her?"

"Of course I do," he scoffed. "But I figure she's good for a fast ride and has a lot of miles on her. . . so I named my motorcycle after her."

My jaw dropped. I wanted to slap him for the vulgar innuendo, but I pushed back my irritation and focused on the more serious issue. "You _drove_ like this?"

"What?"

Carlisle's voice was quiet, but angry as he stepped into the kitchen, his fierce gaze focused on Edward.

"Relax," he said, waving his hand dismissively, "I'm fine."

"Oh no you're not. Driving drunk, Edward?"

"I'm not drunk—"

"Don't lie to me! This has gone on long enough." Carlisle's gaze shifted to the table where Edward had tossed his coat, and he stalked to it and started digging through the pockets.

"What are you doing?" Edward demanded.

Carlisle extracted a wallet and a set of keys. He pocketed the keys and flipped the wallet open, sliding Edward's driver's license from its sleeve. "You wanted a father," he said, tossing the wallet back on the table, "so that's what you're going to get. No more drinking, no more motorcycles, no more recklessness." He met Edward's confused look with a steely expression. "Consider yourself grounded."

Edward gaped at him for one stunned moment before his face morphed into a mask of fury. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You can't _ground_ me!"

Carlisle ignored his protest. "You'll attend my classes with me tomorrow, and you'll sit in my office while I conference with my students."

"Fuck that! Give me back my keys."

"Be ready by seven-thirty," he continued. "I won't accept tardiness."

"And if I don't?" Edward asked with a smirk. "What are you going to do, kick the shit out of me like you did with Mom?"

Carlisle flinched. "No," he said. "I'll call your mother and have her freeze your trust fund."

"_What?_" Edward's eyes widened almost comically. "You can't fucking do that!"

"I can. She has full control of it until you turn twenty-five."

Edward narrowed his eyes. "You son of a bitch. What the hell gives you the right to come here and fuck with my life—"

"You did. If you were behaving like an adult I would treat you like one. But I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and watch you put yourself at risk."

"It's not your job—"

"Like hell it isn't! I'm your father, whether you like it or not. Everything I've done, I've done to protect you, and I'm not going to stop now." His face pinched in pain. "Hate me if you have to, but I _will_ keep you safe."

"Fine," Edward snapped. "It's not like I'm some over-privileged brat who's never had a job before. I worked for Marcus all through high school. I don't need someone else's money to get by."

"No," Carlisle said softly, "you don't. You can order yourself a replacement ID and get a job, and there's nothing I could do to stop you. I wouldn't try. Honestly, I'd be pleased to see you doing something so responsible."

"Don't fucking tell me I'm not responsible," Edward spat. He stomped to the freezer and yanked it open, pulling out the bottle of vodka he had stored there.

Carlisle snatched it out of his hand and strode over to the sink, yanking the cap from the bottle and upending it over the drain.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Edward screamed.

"Your drinking has gotten out of control."

"Now you're accusing me of having a drinking problem?"

"I've known you for five days, Edward, and I have yet to see you go a single one of them without having a drink."

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic!"

"If you can't face your life sober, you're no kind of man!" Carlisle yelled back, throwing the bottle into the sink and whirling on him.

Edward drew himself up to his full height, glaring lethally. "At least I don't run away from my life." He shouldered past Carlisle and stomped off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Carlisle sagged back against the counter, drooping in defeat. I moved in front of him, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting him drop his head on my shoulder.

"I've lost him," he whispered against my neck as he slumped heavily against me. "He'll never forgive me for this."

I wanted to argue that he would, that all of this would blow over before long, but I couldn't know. Edward was unpredictable at best, and he had shown a remarkable capacity for holding grudges.

I rubbed Carlisle's back comfortingly, feeling helpless, worried, and just so _responsible._ He wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't interfered. I had encouraged him to get to know Edward, and had given him hope that he could have the very thing he had been wishing for over the last twenty years.

And if that weren't enough, I had been encouraging him to take a stand with Edward and stop allowing himself to be his son's personal doormat. Now he had, and the result was _not_ good.

But someone had to say _something._ Edward was better than this. If his collection of awards and trophies was any indication, he had been setting a pretty high standard for himself all his life. Now, though, he was sinking, becoming so much less than he had the potential to be, and putting himself at risk. He was on an alarmingly fast decline, and I didn't want to know what would happen if someone didn't intervene.

"You did the right thing," I told Carlisle, hoping to god I was right. "You couldn't let him keep on like that."

His arms tightened around me and he shook his head against my shoulder. "It was a mistake. I don't have any right. . . ."

"It's not about having a right," I said. "It's about caring enough to keep him from hurting himself, and nobody loves him more than you do."

"I should have let his mother handle it."

I blew out a slow, frustrated breath. Maybe he should have. I didn't know. "Come on," I said, pulling out of his grasp and taking his hand. "Let's go to bed. We'll try to work this out with him in the morning."

Carlisle let me draw him into the bedroom and help him strip off his pajamas. I shed my own clothes and climbed into bed with him, snuggling close.

After about fifteen minutes of restless tossing, though, Carlisle gave up on sleep. He climbed wearily to his feet and pulled his pajamas back on.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I need to call Esme."

I watched him walk out of the room, trying not to feel hurt. Of course he needed to call Esme. The two of them had a child together, and when there was an issue with him, they had to handle it together. It was only to be expected.

But it still made me feel like I was on the outside, looking in.

I wished I could fix this for Carlisle, but this one was out of my league. That was nothing new, though. Having so little influence over such a big part of Carlisle's life had always been the hardest part of being with him. These days it just took on a more tangible form in Edward.

But I couldn't stay too far away. After twenty minutes of sleeplessness, I was pulling on my shorts and Carlisle's T-shirt again. I slipped down the hall to the living room and peered through the doorway at Carlisle, who was pacing the length of the room, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He met my eyes as I moved to the couch and curled up in the corner.

"Not yet," he said into the phone. "Just cap his daily spending limit for now. I'll let you know if we need to take it further . . . All right . . . Thank you, sweetheart."

He said goodbye and hung up, then crossed the room and sank down onto the couch beside me.

"Cap his daily spending limit?" I asked curiously.

He nodded. "I took his keys but he has several hundred thousand dollars in his trust fund. If he bought a new vehicle, it would defeat the purpose."

I nodded and leaned my head against his shoulder. "What does Esme think of all this?"

"She told me to be firm," he said, sounding chagrined.

"She's probably right."

He didn't answer, and for several minutes, there was silence between us. But Carlisle was fidgety. Tapping fingers gave way to a bouncing knee, and then he was on his feet again, pacing the room, running an agitated hand through his hair. I could see his mind working in the focus of his eyes and the slight motion of his lips as he whispered very quietly to himself.

Occasionally, when he set his jaw just so, or when his eyes flashed with anger, he reminded me forcibly of Edward. The two of them shared the same strong features, and I had to acknowledge the fact that their similarities didn't end there. Both of them were very good at hiding their pain and putting on a pleasant mask. Carlisle did it with quiet geniality where Edward preferred energetic cheerfulness, but both of them shifted easily into their assumed roles.

Carlisle stopped and turned to me. "You should sleep, love. You have exams in the morning."

"I'm fine." I stifled a yawn and snuggled down against the arm of the couch. "Maybe I'll just take a little nap here, until you're ready to come with me."

He frowned, but didn't say anything, just resumed his pacing.

His anxiety didn't ease as the night wore on. I dozed off and on while he fretted over the situation with Edward. Sometimes he would move to sit with me, stroking my hair or my arm and seeming to take comfort in the contact. But other times he was too anxious to sit, and he wandered the room distractedly, muttering to himself.

He was standing at the door to the patio, his head pressed against the glass, when his cell phone chimed from the bedroom, alerting him that it was time to get up for his run. He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes, and then headed into the room to turn off the alarm and get ready for the day.

While he was dressing I heard Edward's bedroom door open, and he appeared a moment later in a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt, blinking sleepily. He saw me sitting on the couch and scowled at me.

"What are you doing up?"

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you really want to start with me this morning?"

"You're always fucking here," he grumbled. "Don't you have a life of your own beyond your boyfriend?"

I felt myself growing immediately defensive. "You move into _my_ apartment and wonder why I'm always around? That's rich, Edward."

He glowered at me, but shuffled into the kitchen without answering. I heard the rattle of the Tylenol bottle and the rush of water in the sink, and I silently wished him a well-deserved hangover.

After a few minutes, Carlisle emerged from the bedroom dressed in his running clothes, and Edward hurried back into the living room, his whole demeanor changing.

"Hey," he said, looking slightly nervous. "I was wondering if maybe I could run with you today?"

Carlisle regarded him carefully, looking slightly confused. "Of course. You're more than welcome."

Edward gave him an anxious half-smile, then shot me a severe look, as if warning me not to invite myself along.

To be honest, at that point I was tempted to do just that. I didn't know what Edward was planning, and I wanted to be there to support Carlisle in case it was more of his mind-game bullshit. But Edward had managed to come up with an activity I couldn't participate in. If I tried to run with them, I was as likely as not to land myself in the emergency room. So I just kissed Carlisle goodbye, smiling bracingly, and watched as the two of them headed out the door.

I really hoped they would both make it back in one piece.

I fretted my way through my shower, scrubbing my hair more thoroughly than technically necessary, drawing it out as long as I could. I sort of wished I hadn't been keeping up with my summertime waxing. It would have been nice if I had had something to shave in order to keep myself distracted. Instead, I got out of the shower and blew my hair dry, moisturized my skin, plucked a few stray eyebrow hairs, and tried to force my brain into recitations of my stylistics notes.

A few minutes before six o'clock, I made my way into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. I found myself pacing the kitchen as it brewed, and I forced myself to sit down at the table. I tried to convince myself that everything was fine. Edward hadn't even really been bad this morning—at least not to Carlisle. They were only going to spend an hour together. They'd had perfectly pleasant hours before.

I wasn't buying my own reassurances, though. I was bracing myself for impact. So when the sound of loud laughter drifted in from the other side of the door, I was a little disoriented. I watched, perplexed, as the lock turned and the door pushed open, revealing two very happy men.

Edward's eyes settled on me, and I waited for his expression to sour, but instead his face brightened even further. "Bella!" he cried, bounding through the door and grabbing me up in a hot, sweaty hug.

"Oh, gross!" I squealed, trying to wriggle out of his embrace. "Edward, you smell!"

"You're hurting my feelings," he said, and started pushing my face down into the sodden armpit of his shirt. "Say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I gasped. "Uncle!"

He released me with a laugh and dropped a quick kiss onto my forehead before following his father over to the sink.

Carlisle was pulling two glasses down from the cabinet, smiling to himself over Edward's antics.

"I can't believe that's as far as you get in an hour," Edward teased good-naturedly as Carlisle filled one of the glasses with water and handed it to him.

He shook his head. "I'm an old man, Edward. The human body only holds out for so long."

"That's bullshit." He took several long chugs from his glass of water, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "When I was in Angola, I worked with this one guy. Seventy-six years old, and he was still out there with us every day, throwing rolls of drainage tile around."

Carlisle affected a shudder. "I'll leave the heavy lifting to you and your seventy-six-year-old friend."

"Weak." Edward downed the rest of his water. "I'll hit the shower first so you have some time to sit down and catch your breath." He gave Carlisle a playful clap on the shoulder, then headed off to the bathroom.

I turned my surprised gaze onto Carlisle. "Good run?"

"It was very good." He was practically glowing as he leaned against the counter and sipped his water.

"What . . ." I looked at the doorway where Edward had disappeared, then back and Carlisle, "What happened?"

"Nothing. We just talked—_really_ talked. No accusations or excuses. He told me about the classes he registered for, and asked if I would mind stopping by the bookstore while we were on campus today."

"Did he mention last night?"

Carlisle shook his head.

I stared after Edward again. "I'll be honest. I'm worried about his tendency toward mood swings. But that . . . that seemed pretty genuine."

His eyes shone as he nodded his agreement.

I crossed the kitchen and gave him a quick hug, sweaty shirt and all, and he rewarded me with a gentle, earnest kiss.

"Do you want some coffee?" I asked, reaching for a mug.

"Please."

I poured us each a cup while he retrieved his laptop, and we sat together at the table. Carlisle returned a few last-minute emails to his students and I ran over my stylistics notes, better able to focus this time. Every time I glanced up and saw the soft, absent smile on Carlisle's face, I felt a happy little flutter in my stomach.

I knew it was probably stupid to be getting my hopes up, but this was so much better than we had imagined Edward's reaction would be. I hoped the impending crash wouldn't be too intolerable.

Edward emerged from the shower after a few minutes, damp and clean, and strode into the kitchen. He collected a pint of Ben and Jerry's and a spoon and moved back to the table, hopping up on it and pushing the ice cream toward his father.

Carlisle raised his eyebrows.

"So," Edward said with a grin, "let's talk about this grounding thing."

Carlisle stiffened but waited patiently for Edward to continue.

"I don't suppose we could say it was a misunderstanding and call the whole thing off?"

Carlisle's expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening a little. I could tell he wanted to say yes. There wasn't much he wouldn't do to preserve Edward's good mood. But he finally gave a slight shake of his head.

Edward let out a disappointed huff. "Fine," he grumbled, but smiled again immediately. "You can't blame a guy for trying. But can we at least put a time limit on it?"

Carlisle leaned back in his chair, looking at Edward thoughtfully. "Two weeks."

"_Two weeks?_ I wasn't even drunk!"

"Three weeks."

"Okay!" He threw his hands up in defense. "You're right, I was maybe a _smidge_ over the limit, but I promise, it will never happen again."

"Two weeks," Carlisle responded with a smile.

Edward's voice took on a wheedling note. "Aw, come on. You're really going to let me start my first day of college grounded? Isn't that a little emasculating?"

Carlisle deliberated for a moment. "All right. You'll be grounded during the interim week, but next Sunday will be your last day."

"Excellent!" Edward crowed happily.

Carlisle chuckled and pushed himself away from the table. "Will I still be allowed to eat my ice cream if I save it for later?"

Edward shrugged. "I guess. A man can only go so long without his Ben and Jerry's."

He stashed it back in the freezer and headed off to the bathroom to shower, smiling the whole way.

"Hey." Edward nudged my leg with his foot, drawing my attention back to him. "What are the chances you could clear out of here tonight?"

"Why?"

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Look, no offense or anything, but it's easier when it's just him and me. I want some time with him by myself."

"You'll be nice if I leave?"

He raised three fingers. "Scout's honor."

"Fine. I can hang out at Jacob's tonight."

He smiled brightly at me. "Thanks."

"You're really not mad about last night?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "Nah. Listen, don't tell him, but . . . I didn't drive home last night."

"Um." I frowned, confused. "Okay. . . ."

"That bouncer friend of yours gave me a lift," he said. "He has a truck, so we loaded my bike in the back and he dropped me off."

"I don't get it." I worried my lip absently, trying to understand what he was getting at. "Were you just trying to provoke Carlisle?"

"Kind of," he said, shrugging again.

"Why?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I guess I just needed to piss him off, you know? He takes everything so easy, like nothing bugs him, and I just wanted him to . . . care."

I started to protest, but he put up a hand to stop me.

"I know. That's just how he is, and it doesn't mean he _doesn't_ care. I know." He dropped his hand and smiled a little. "I feel better now, though. About everything."

"Yeah, well . . ." I didn't really know what to say except to point out the obvious. "You're still a douche."

"And you're still crazy about me."

I shrugged, surrendering a reluctant smile. He had me there.


	24. Swords Into Ploughshares

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

* * *

><p><strong>24. Swords Into Ploughshares<strong>

Jacob flipped his book closed with a groan of relief and rolled over onto his back on the bed.

"Think you're ready?" I asked him.

"I hope so." He tossed the book onto the floor and wrapped his arm around me, dragging me against his side. "So. You want to tell me why you're here?"

"I told you. I came to study with you."

"Uh huh. Except you took your last final yesterday."

"I came to help _you_ study."

He shifted onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. "Tell you what? I'm going to take a little nap, so when you're finished giving me excuses and get around to the real reason, just poke me and wake me up."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I honestly can't remember why you're my best friend."

"Because you lost your soul to me in a poker game when you were seventeen," he reminded me. "Which means you have no choice. I own you, therefore you have to spill it."

I sighed heavily and pushed myself up on my elbow, mirroring his position. "Carlisle plus Edward equals massive mind fuckery."

"That was predictable. So you're avoiding them?"

"Kind of. I think they're actually starting to see eye to eye, to be honest, and Edward asked if I'd make myself scarce so the two of them could have some father-son bonding time.

"So let me get this straight," Jacob said, trying to suppress a smile. "Your boyfriend who doesn't live with you, and your new roommate who wormed his way in without consulting you, have now evicted you from your apartment?"

"I'm not evicted," I protested. "Come on, you know how college is. It's kind of like the tie on the doorknob, only he was polite enough to ask me in advance."

"You're not getting much action lately, are you?" Jacob asked, tousling my hair.

"Not a lot, no. But this is worth it."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is." I frowned at him.

"Why?"

I bit my lip, thinking about the emotional roller coaster we had been on for the last week. "Because when things are good between them, Carlisle is so happy. Not just content, like I'm used to, but _really_ happy."

"But are _you_ happy?"

I gave his question some serious thought. I had been happy before Edward showed up. Since then . . . well, I spent a lot of time feeling frustrated these days. But things were looking up. If Edward and Carlisle could make peace, I felt like things would settle into a pleasant routine again. And for the first time, it seemed like Edward was really trying.

"I'm getting there," I said. "I'll keep you posted."

"Whatever." He sat up, grunting wearily. "I'm going to go channel surf. You coming?"

"Nah, I think I've given the guys enough time. I'm going to head home." I took the hand he offered me and let him pull me to my feet.

"Call me if you need me to kick Edward's ass," he said, giving me a quick kiss goodbye.

I snorted. "Right. And have Carlisle put you in the hospital? Not the best plan."

I headed home, letting myself into my apartment, and I found Carlisle and Edward sitting at the table, leaning over a hand-drawn map. Carlisle looked up at me and smiled, holding a hand out to me and drawing me into his lap.

"How's Jacob?" he asked, pressing a kiss behind my ear.

"Completely burned out from his anthropology final, thanks to you. What are you guys doing?"

Edward licked his lips nervously, avoiding my eyes. "We were talking about this excavation up in Washington. They found some mammoth remains along with pottery and tools. I guess it's kind of a big deal."

"We were thinking about running up for a few days and visiting the dig site," Carlisle added, excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Would you like to come with us?"

Edward caught my eye and shook his head quickly, giving me a pleading look.

"When are you going?"

"Assuming Diego and I finish the grading tomorrow, we thought we'd leave Saturday morning and be back Tuesday night."

I held in a whimper. I just wanted to be _with_ him again, and now he was talking about taking off for Washington? I didn't like it, but I did like the eagerness on his face. This trip clearly meant a lot to him, but it was unlikely that he and I would get any alone time on it.

Which meant I should probably bow out and let Edward have some. "Paul and Rachel are moving this weekend," I said, trying not to sound sulky. "I promised I would help them."

"We could put the trip off for a few days," Carlisle offered.

Edward glowered down at the map.

"No, it's okay. You guys should go without me. I'll make a point to stop by and see it next time I go home to visit."

"Are you sure?" Carlisle asked, brushing my cheek gently with his thumb. "It's no trouble to put it off. School is out all of next week."

"I'm sure. You'll have more fun without me, anyway. I get carsick."

I could tell Carlisle didn't really believe me, but he nodded. "All right, then. You're sure you don't mind us going without you?"

"No, of course not. Take lots of pictures for me."

Edward gave me a grateful smile.

Carlisle's cell phone rang, and he shifted me off of his lap so he could retrieve it from his pocket. He excused himself when he saw the name on the caller ID, moving into the living room to talk.

I frowned reproachfully at Edward. "You have to share him _sometimes_."

"I know," he said, "and I will. Just give me this, and when we get back I promise I'll give you guys some space."

He seemed to have done all right today, so I decided to trust him. "Fine," I said. "But if you go all Douchebag Edward on him again, I'm going to tell him to leave your ass in Washington and come home."

"I'll be good, I swear."

So the guys planned their trip, and while they were at it, I decided to make good use of the time. I called my mom that night and invited her to come visit me on the days that Edward and Carlisle would be out of town.

Bright and early Saturday morning, I helped Carlisle pack his car with the absurd amount of junk food that Edward had declared was mandatory for their road trip together. As soon as they were on their way, I headed to the airport to pick up Renee. She met me at baggage claim in cut-offs ad flip-flops, and declared that we would be going directly to the beach. She didn't intend to waste a minute of her brief vacation on silly things like unpacking or getting settled.

I waited until we were wandering along the dense, wet sand, with the occasional wave washing over our feet and ankles, before I started the conversation I knew we needed to have. I had been feeling guilty lately for not having told Mom about Carlisle, and it was time I fixed that. I had excused my silence before because it was just a fling, but now that we were actually making a commitment it was time to come clean.

"Hey, Mom?" I said tentatively, digging my toes into the sand. "Do people ever give you a hard time about the age difference between you and Phil?"

She shrugged. "Not really. We get some funny looks every now and then, but you know what I always say. Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

I rolled my eyes. "I wonder where I get my penchant for clichés from."

"Why?" she asked. "Are you thinking about dating a younger man?"

"If I dated a younger man, it would be illegal."

"Older?" she prodded.

I ducked my head and peeked sheepishly up at her from beneath my lashes. "Maybe."

"_How_ old?"

"Older than you," I said. "But younger than Charlie."

"Bella!" she squealed excitedly. "How long has this been going on?"

"Umm . . ." I shoved my hands in my pockets. "All summer?"

"And you didn't tell me? Isabella Marie!"

"I didn't know it was going to be a _thing_. We were just kind of messing around, only now. . . ."

"Now it's a thing?"

I couldn't hold back what I was sure was a goofy looking smile.

"Baby, that's so exciting! Tell me _everything!_"

So I did, starting with the library and leaving out nothing. Mom did exactly what she was supposed to do, gasping and giggling in all the right places, and even murmuring in wide-eyed appreciation when I described the night of the earthquake.

Her face turned sympathetic when I started telling her about Edward. For the sake of Carlisle's privacy, I only lightly touched on his reasons for leaving his family, but Mom got the idea and didn't ask questions.

"So is Edward driving you crazy?" she asked.

"Kind of. Was it this hard for Phil when you guys started dating?"

She nodded. "He'd never dated a single mom before. He had to get used to the idea that I couldn't always drop everything and go out at a moment's notice. And when I missed his games for your school things or our movie nights, he got a little sensitive about it."

"I guess he was pretty glad to see me go, huh?"

"Oh, Bella, don't be ridiculous." She kicked a small spray of water at me, wetting my legs and the cuffs of my shorts. "Phil understood that you were always my first priority, and he got used to it. He joined us for movie nights at home instead of going out, and he learned to plan his schedule around yours."

"So you're saying I have to start planning my schedule around Edward's?"

"Or, at the very least, plan together. Edward took this weekend, so let him know you want next. Schedule events in advance. Include him when you can. And Bella?" She slid an arm around my shoulders. "You have to accept that sometimes you come second. If your Carlisle is a good man, he'll make his son his first priority."

I glowered at her in mock irritation. "Aren't you supposed to tell me that I'm the most important person in the world and that Edward can suck it?"

"You _are_ the most important person in the world, baby. Even more important than Phil. And you always will be."

I smiled reluctantly. "Yeah, thanks. Message received."

"That doesn't mean you _never_ get to come first, though," she amended. "Make sure you don't let Carlisle forget about you. Phil had to remind me to let him in once or twice."

"Thanks, Mom." I gave her a tight hug.

"Any time, baby." She pulled back and gave me an eager smile. "So, what does this professor of yours look like? Does he have a nice ass?"

I laughed at her teasing and teased her right back. "Nicer than Phil's."

She gasped. "Sacrilege!"

It was great having Mom around. We hit a frat party and drank ourselves stupid, then nursed our hangovers in front of the television with old Cary Grant movies. We might have even swiped a pint of Dublin Mudslide to share, though if Carlisle noticed I fully intended to blame it on Edward.

It was a tearful goodbye at the airport on Monday night. I hugged my mom tightly and made a futile attempt to get her to stay longer. "Just one more day?" I begged. "You didn't even get to meet Carlisle."

"I'll visit again soon, I promise. The first time Phil drags me to a city with snow on the ground, I'll be begging off and coming here instead." She released me and dabbed at my wet cheeks with her sleeve. "Besides, you're going to need time alone with your man after being apart for so long."

"Yeah, but I need someone to distract Edward!"

She laughed and ruffled my hair. "You'll be fine. I love you, pumpkin."

"I love you too, Mom." I handed her the carry-on bag I had been holding for her. "Hug Phil for me."

She blotted my eyes again and kissed my cheek, then headed for the security line.

I spent the evening re-watching all of my Cary Grant movies and missing her.

Carlisle and Edward returned the next afternoon, earlier than I had expected them. I jumped at the sound of the key in the lock, and as soon as the door opened I flew across the room and pushed past Edward, throwing myself into Carlisle's arms.

He laughed as I peppered his face with kisses. "Missed me, did you?"

I didn't let up at all, but between kisses I managed to mumble, "I barely noticed you were gone."

He chuckled and pulled me into the apartment, dropping his bag on the kitchen floor. Edward was standing at the counter, his arms spread for a hug and his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Yeah, I even missed your whiny ass," I teased, stepping into his arms and giving him a tight squeeze.

"Good. Maybe I'll give you your present, then."

I hopped back and smiled sweetly. "You brought me a present?"

He reached into his pocket and drew out a small, fluffy elephant figurine. "It's a wooly mammoth keychain," he said. "So you can always remember the trip we went on without you."

"Aw, you're so thoughtful!"

"Whatever," he smirked. "Go kiss my dad some more; his present is better."

"You brought me a present too?" I asked, spinning back to Carlisle.

"Of course. You didn't think I'd let Edward show me up, did you?" He exchanged grins with his son before handing me a small, flat box. I opened it to reveal a silver bracelet set with polished brown stones. I inspected it closely and noticed the imprint of tiny fossilized fish and crustaceans in the stones.

"It's from a local jewelry maker," he said. "You can find marine fossils all over the area, and she collects them and turns them into charms."

"It's perfect," I breathed, lifting it out of the box. It was just so _him_, and I absolutely loved it. "Thank you." I slipped into his embrace again and let myself enjoy the feeling of his solid chest beneath my cheek and his strong arms wrapped around me.

Edward cleared his throat. "I suddenly have all this laundry to do."

"You don't have to leave," Carlisle said, sounding a little bit anxious.

"Nah, it's cool." He was already heading into his room, calling back over his shoulder. "You guys get your grope on, I've got stuff to do." He reappeared with a laundry bag and gave me a poke in the side as he hoisted his duffel bag onto his shoulder. "I'll be back, though, so keep it in the bedroom, would you?"

"Smart ass," Carlisle muttered with a smile.

The two of us moved to the couch after Edward left, and I curled into Carlisle's side. "How did it go?" I asked him.

"Good." He thought for a moment. "Awkward, occasionally. I'm pretty sure Edward has no interest in archaeology whatsoever."

"Why's that?"

"He was bored. He kept asking questions, and I knew he was trying to listen, but the subject just doesn't seem to appeal to him."

"So he just went on the trip to spend time with you?"

He smiled softly. "I think he did."

And now he was keeping his promise to me and giving us some space. I sighed happily and snuggled closer to Carlisle. "You should ground him every week."

He chuckled and kissed my forehead. "How was your visit with your mother?"

"Terrible. She was way too reasonable and practical. I think she might be growing up, and it scares me."

His hand rubbed the back of my neck and I felt him sigh, his breath fluttering through my hair. "I do envy your relationship with your parents. When I'm with Edward I don't have the first idea how to behave. I simply don't have the familial training that most people do."

"You're doing all right," I said, squeezing his knee reassuringly.

Carlisle shifted so he was facing me, taking my hands in his. He gazed intently at me, and pressed my fingers between his. "Bella, I don't know how to thank you for what you've done for me. Having my son in my life is . . . it's more than I could ever have hoped for. It means the world to me, and I know it never would have happened had you not been here to mediate for us."

I smiled, feeling a light flush rise to my cheeks. "I just wanted you to be happy."

"I am happy, Bella," he said. "And not just because of Edward. You . . . you saw something in me that I couldn't see, and I find that, with you, I'm a better man. I'll never be worthy of you and I'll never be able to repay you for what you've done for me, but if you'll let me I'll spend the rest of my life trying."

I shook my head as I released his hands and slid my arms around his neck. "No debts," I told him. "No imbalances, there's nothing to repay. Just be with me."

His eyes were bright with emotion as he spoke. "I love you so much, Bella. There's nothing in the world I want more than to be with you."

I leaned in and kissed him, slowly and gently, and rose to my feet as I did so. I pulled him up with me, never breaking the kiss, and backed toward the hall, drawing him along with me.

We made our way to the bedroom without rushing, just kissing and touching, taking time to enjoy one another. Once the door closed behind us, I started a leisurely quest to free Carlisle of his clothes. With Edward giving us time and space, I felt no need to hurry. I took my time, pulling back fabric, kissing bared skin, re-learning the shape of the body that had been absent for the last few days.

I had missed this body, but there was something I was reclaiming tonight that had been missing for much longer than the weekend the guys had spent in Washington. I could feel it returning to me in the lingering kisses on my neck and the soft stroke of Carlisle's fingers over my hips. I could hear it in his deep breathing and in the soft moan he let out when I scraped my teeth along his earlobe. I could see it in his eyes when, divested of our clothing, he eased me back onto the bed and let his smoldering gaze sweep over my body.

I had Carlisle's attention again. He wasn't thinking about Edward tonight, wasn't hurting over the latest lash of his son's temper or fretting over how to win his acceptance. Tonight it was just the two of us, no barriers, no distractions, and I welcomed him back with all of the fervor I could offer him.

Our lovemaking was slow and passionate, filled with worshipful caresses and whispered declarations of love and devotion. We made and renewed promises, and for the first time we gave ourselves over completely to one another, surrendering and accepting in a way we never had before.

I lost track of time. There was no need to mark it when everything I needed was here with me. There were no sounds beyond Carlisle's moans and whispers, no taste but the salt of his skin, no scent beyond the musk of his body, nothing to see but the golden hair that fell into his pale blue eyes. And I certainly didn't have the capacity to feel anything more than what Carlisle was making me feel. His hands moved over me, protective and possessive, as he urged me expertly toward the brink and tumbled over the edge with me.

Lying in his arms afterward, panting and dewed with sweat, I stopped being afraid. I hadn't fully realized how much I had feared having him leave me again, but something had shifted between us, and I knew that we were beyond that now. We were finally together, not simply lovers, but partners. I wasn't foolish enough to believe that everything would be easy, or that there would be nothing to challenge our relationship, but I was no longer looking ahead, searching for the obstacle that would mean the end of us. I didn't need to. Whatever came, we would get through it together.

"I love you," I whispered, pressing a kiss over his pounding heart. "Forever."

Edward relaxed significantly in the following days. He seemed more content and more confident in his relationship with Carlisle, and he was playful and teasing with his father instead of critical and insulting.

That wasn't to say he was always perfectly happy with everything. He still carried a significant fear of abandonment, and at times he could be sullen and argumentative. He was usually able to address his issues head on, though, instead of brushing them aside and lashing out later.

There were far more good times than bad. The two of them still played video games together, and while I sort of missed the pre-Edward quiet, I found I didn't much mind the noise of the television when it was accompanied by Carlisle's laughter. I even grew to enjoy the guitar game, though I would never have admitted it to Edward.

And they did other things together, too. Once classes started up again, Carlisle took an active interest in Edward's studies. He bought himself copies of Edward's textbooks and read the assignments along with his son so that the two of them could discuss the subjects in depth. Edward seemed to enjoy these conversations more than anything else they did together, and it wasn't unusual to see one of them playing devil's advocate for the sake of a good debate.

Overall, things were going well, so I was stunned when Edward came home one evening carrying a stack of cardboard boxes. He set them on the kitchen table and moved into the living room where I was sitting with Carlisle, reading a textbook.

"So," he said, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of us, "I'm moving out."

Carlisle stiffened and his hand tightened convulsively, which was slightly inconvenient for me, since it happened to be wrapped around my neck.

"What?" I asked, pulling Carlisle's hand away and gripping it tightly. "No, Edward, don't leave."

"My my, look who's changed her tune," he grinned. "Aren't you the one who's always begging me to take a hike?"

"Edward," Carlisle whispered, "please. . . ."

"Relax," he said in a conciliatory tone. "I'm not going far. I'm just switching apartments with someone in building three."

Carlisle's tense stance eased slightly, but he still looked concerned. "Have I . . . have I done something . . . ?"

"Naw, come on, it's nothing like that. It's just . . ." He shrugged self consciously. "I'm basically living with my dad and his girlfriend. It's not exactly how I pictured the college experience, you know? I mean, I want to be able to invite a girl over to study with me without having to introduce her to my family."

"Of course," Carlisle said, though his smile was forced.

"I'll still be right here in the complex," Edward said, and I was glad to see him making an effort to reassure his father. "There's this girl, Alice, who got placed with a guy who's about three times her size. He scares the hell out of her. So I told her I'd switch with her if she wanted."

"You'll stay close?" I asked.

"Yeah. Hell, I'll be _here_ half the time. I mean, we have to keep up with our guitar practice, right Dad?" He smacked Carlisle's knee with the back of his hand, eliciting a real smile this time.

"Of course," Carlisle said. "We can't let that slide."

"Plus I'll drop by your office at school sometimes," Edward said. "And I was thinking . . . maybe . . . I don't know. Maybe we could do like a weekly Sunday dinner thing?"

"I'd like that very much," Carlisle said.

"Cool. And invite Alice to them too, 'cause she's smoking hot."

"Yeah, about that," I said. "Alice isn't one of Carlisle's students, right? Because this could be a problem."

"Don't sweat it, I checked on that. And she doesn't mind you two fucking around with each other, either. She's a sweet girl, I think you'll like her."

"Do you want some help packing?" Carlisle asked, setting his book aside.

"That'd be great."

We spent the next couple of hours packing up Edward's boxes and loading them over to his new apartment. We met Emmett, Edward's new roommate, and helped Alice get her stuff back to Edward's old room. When everything was finally cleared out, Carlisle stood with Edward in the bedroom of his new apartment, looking unsure of himself.

"Listen," he said gripping Edward's shoulder. "You need to be careful about your drinking. Both of my parents were addicts, and one of your mother's was. Your genes are stacked against you."

"I got it, Dad. I'll be careful, I promise."

"Keep up with your homework," Carlisle continued, then smiled wryly. "Mind your manners, eat your vegetables, wash behind your ears."

Edward laughed and pulled him in for a hug, clapping him on the back. "I'll come by tomorrow night for some Rocksmith."

"Tomorrow night," Carlisle agreed, releasing him. He held out an arm to me and I moved to his side, giving Edward a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Dinner this Sunday?" I asked.

"I'll cook," Edward said. "But let's do it at your place. You have better kitchen appliances than Emmett does."

"It's a date."

Carlisle gave his son's shoulder another squeeze and stepped away, letting me draw him out of the room. We waved to Emmett, who was poring over a textbook in front of the television, and headed out the door.

"This isn't a bad sign, right?" Carlisle asked me, holding me close as we walked. "He's not . . . pulling away from me?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I think it's healthy. It gives you two just enough space that you won't drive each other crazy."

He nodded. He didn't look completely convinced, but I had a feeling that only time would reassure him that he wasn't losing his son all over again. I trusted Edward, though. He seemed to be making a real effort to keep the door open between himself and his father, and I had high hopes for the situation.

"Come on," I said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Let's go hang out with Alice. She seems like a fun girl; I'm excited to get to know her."

Carlisle smiled at me and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "I have no doubt you'll find something to love about her. You always do."


	25. Weighed in an Even Balance

******Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.******

* * *

><p><strong>25. Weighed in an Even Balance<strong>

"Bella, do these sandals go with this dress?"

I looked up from the paper I was writing, taking in the four-inch red heels Alice was holding up. "Holy shoes, girl! Can you even walk in those things?"

"It's just a study group. I'll be sitting most of the night."

"You're wearing _those_ to a study group?"

She shrugged, her eyes darting away. "Yeah. So?"

"Emmett will be there, won't he?"

"I don't know," she said evasively. "I didn't ask."

I grinned. Edward had gotten Alice all wrong. He had thought she was afraid of Emmett because of his intimidating size. The truth was, she couldn't manage to say a single word to him because she had a monumental crush on him.

"The shoes look great, but do up one more button. You don't want to look like you're trying too hard."

She hurriedly buttoned her sundress, showing slightly less Wonder Bra-assisted cleavage.

"There you go. You look hot."

The front door opened then, and Carlisle and Edward strode in, looking sweaty, but happy.

"Be serious, Edward," Carlisle said. "You can't major in Philosophy unless you want to spend your life living out of a cardboard box."

"What, you mean you're not going to support me forever?" He crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of water bottles for them before his eyes fell on Alice. He gave a low whistle. "Lookin' good, girl. Is Emmett coming over or something?"

Alice huffed and stalked back to her bedroom.

"How were the batting cages?" I asked.

"Carlisle sucks at baseball."

"What?" Carlisle said, looking offended. "I hit more than you did."

"You hit more _fouls_ than I did. If we were playing a game, you'd have struck the fuck out."

"It's been a while. Don't embarrass me in front of my girlfriend."

I giggled and shifted my laptop onto the coffee table, moving to welcome Carlisle home with a kiss. "Don't worry. I automatically operate under the assumption that Edward is full of shit."

"Well, he does want to major in Philosophy."

Edward rolled his eyes. "You're a regular comedian."

"Call your mother. See what she thinks of your plan."

"Jeez, I was just _thinking_ about it. You don't have to go dragging Mom into it." He took his water bottle to the living room and flopped down on the couch. "What about music? I'm good at that."

"Sure. And if you're lucky you can live out of a box in the nice part of town."

Edward glowered at him. "Hilarious."

Carlisle and I followed him to the living room, sitting next to him.

"Medical school?" he said thoughtfully.

"If you want to spend half your life training, and half your paycheck on malpractice insurance."

"Fine," Edward said, rolling his eyes, "what do _you_ suggest I major in?"

"Archaeology, of course."

He snickered. "Thanks, but I outgrew playing in the sandbox when I was seven."

Alice emerged from her room wearing the red heels and carrying a bedazzled messenger bag. "How do I look?" she asked us, doing a little turn.

Edward looked her over. "You really want to get his attention? Undo one more button."

Her eyes widened, and she looked between Edward and me in indecision.

"Oh, come on," I argued. "You think the only way for her to get Emmett's attention is with sex?"

"Trust me. He's not one for subtlety."

Alice pressed her lips together determinedly and undid a button. "I'll be home in a few hours," she said, turning and heading for the door.

"Have a good time!" I called after her.

"What about business?" Edward asked Carlisle.

"Could you be a little more vague with your plans?"

"That's kind of the point. A business major would be useful in a lot of careers."

"Business majors are students whose parents got after them for being undeclared."

Edward gave him a pointed look. "Then it's perfect for me, isn't it? What about math?"

"So you can teach high school?"

"What's wrong with teaching high school?"

"Nothing, if you don't mind living a frustrating, unfulfilled life."

"Hey!" Edward said with an indignant sniff. "I'd be a good teacher."

"Of course you would, Edward, you'd be good at anything you chose to do. But that doesn't mean you'd be happy doing it."

Edward glowered at him.

Carlisle chuckled and ruffled Edward's hair, making him duck away. "Go do your homework, or none of these programs will have you."

"Whatever." He hauled himself to his feet and gave my shoulder a shove as he passed me on the way to the door. "See ya, Bella."

I watched him walk away, then turned and arched an eyebrow at Carlisle. "Aren't you being a little critical?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I'm just playing devil's advocate. Edward likes to argue with me."

"Apparently." I shifted onto my knees and threw a leg across his lap, straddling him. "It's good to see you guys getting along, even if you do have to argue to do it."

He nodded, running his hands over my hips. "You're not going to distract me, you know."

"Why, Dr. Cullen," I said, batting my eyelashes innocently, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't. But if you don't tell me how you want to celebrate your birthday I'll have to surprise you, and I know how you feel about surprises."

"They're _bad_," I said firmly, reiterating his point. "They're _always bad._ When you read about someone trying to plan a surprise in a novel, you can pretty much guarantee that there will be pointless misunderstandings and unnecessary fuckery."

"Isn't the plot of your favorite Shakespeare play based solely on pointless misunderstandings and unnecessary fuckery?"

I glowered at him. "Things that make good fiction are rarely the sorts of things that make for a pleasant reality."

"I guess you'd better tell me, then."

I settled down onto his lap and wriggled against him, catching his lips in a slow, sensual kiss. "I want," I whispered, pulling back slowly, "to go home with you and spend the entire evening naked in your bed."

"Mmmm . . ." he kissed me again, his hands sliding beneath my shirt and caressing my sides. "Nice try, Isabella."

"What?" I poked my lip out, blatantly pouting at his refusal. "Don't you think I should get to choose how we spend the day?"

"You're not locking yourself away with an old man on your twenty-first birthday."

"But I _like _my old man." I nipped at his ear lobe and kissed my way down his neck, still trying to distract him, but he seemed oblivious to my efforts.

"Would you like to go to a club? Have your first legal drink?"

"No." I nibbled softly at his neck. "I don't like clubs."

"Out to dinner? I have some pull with a fair number of culinary instructors. I'm sure I could get us reservations to some place with an impressive wine list."

"I don't like food either." I tugged back his collar and dipped my tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat, catching him in a moment of weakness and eliciting a low moan.

"I'm not going to be distracted," he said again, though he sounded slightly breathless. "Do whatever you want with that evil little mouth of yours, but I won't forget about your birthday."

"Really?" I asked, deliberately misinterpreting his words. "Whatever I want?" I reached between us and popped open the button of his slacks, and he groaned. Before I could get the zipper undone, he grabbed my wrists and twisted me onto my back, pinning me down with his body as he stretched my hands over my head.

"Naughty, naughty girl," he whispered, his hot breath tickling my ear. "I may have to put you in time out."

"Does time out involve you taking off my clothes and fucking me?"

He chuckled, low and dark, as his free hand crept beneath my shirt and started fondling my breast through my bra. "No. It involves me leaving you here all alone while I go arrange a surprise birthday celebration for you."

I scowled at him. "You're a mean, mean man."

"And you're a beautiful, alluring, _young_ girl who deserves to have the properly clichéd experience of ringing in her twenty-first birthday with excessive amounts of alcohol and the company of people her age."

I grinned. I couldn't help it. He'd said the magic word. "Fine, you're right. We'll hit a couple of clubs with Jacob and Rosalie—and Edward, if you'll lighten up a little about him drinking. But at the end of the night I'm coming home with _you_, and I'm expecting to be fucked into oblivion."

He buried his head in my neck and moaned softly as his hand kneaded my breast. "That sounds perfectly reasonable."

"But no gifts."

His hand stilled and he raised his head. "No deal."

"Oh, come _on!_" I recognized that I was being whiny, and I tried to modify my tone into something less petulant. "I don't need gifts. I already have you, and you're everything I could ever want."

"Exactly, you have me and we have a real, honest-to-god relationship. Which gives me carte blanche when it comes to gifts. It's my right as your . . . boyfriend."

I didn't miss his hesitation. He was still getting used to the labels that came along with commitment, and I knew that was one he struggled with. I couldn't blame him. It seemed like such a silly, superficial term, inadequate to describe what he was to me.

And once again, he had come up with an argument that defeated me. Because I wasn't about to do anything to make our relationship feel any less legitimate to him. Anyway, he was right, this did sort of come along with the territory. There wasn't anything on God's green earth that could stop me from giving _him_ something on his birthday.

I sighed heavily. "Just don't go nuts, okay? A nice book would do the trick. Maybe one of yours?"

He just laughed at my hopeful suggestion. "I don't think the purpose of giving gifts is to punish the receiver. No, my love, I have something else in mind."

"Like what? Are you going to strong-arm Dr. Berty into going easy on me when I defend my thesis? Because that would actually be kind of awesome."

"And wholly unnecessary." He tweaked my nipple and buried his head in my neck again, his lips tracing a path across my sensitive skin. He still had my hands secured above my head, but I made no effort to move them, fully enjoying his ministrations.

"Does it involve sex? Because if it does, I fully support this gift."

"You'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out," he murmured, his words muffled against my throat.

I was about to press him a little more when I heard a key slide into the lock. I blew out my breath in a huff and muttered, "Jacob." It had to be him. There was no way Alice had come back when there was potential for seeing Emmett.

Carlisle growled softly and withdrew his hand from beneath my shirt. "That boy needs to learn to knock."

I giggled as the deadbolt clicked open and the key slid into the lock on the doorknob. "Don't move. Maybe if he walks in on us a couple of times, he'll get the point."

The door swung open even as I was finished talking, and sure enough, Jacob's "Oh, _shit_," told me that he was probably regretting his decision to let himself in. But the gruff voice that came after it froze my blood and made me stiffen beneath Carlisle's solid frame.

"_What the hell is going on here?_"

I couldn't see the door from my position on the couch, but that wasn't a voice I could mistake. I wrenched my hands out of Carlisle's grasp and pushed him off of me, scrambling to my feet and turning to face the door.

"Dad!"

He barely glanced at me, his attention focused almost solely on Carlisle. "Do you want to explain what the fuck you're doing with my daughter?" he demanded, his face going red.

I started toward Charlie, in an attempt to placate him, but Carlisle's hand shot out and grabbed my arm, dragging me back to him. I looked up at him, startled, and was shocked to see the dark fury roiling behind his eyes.

"Carlisle—" I said softly, but Charlie's angry yell interrupted me.

"Get your goddamn hands off of my little girl!"

"Charlie," Billy's soft voice drifted in from outside, the single step in front of the door hindering his progress into the apartment. He and Jacob were both hanging back, looking on wide-eyed, but Billy looked like he would very much like to intercede.

Charlie ignored him, though, stalking toward us, his temper flaring when Carlisle pushed me behind him and put himself between my father and me.

"I strongly recommend you get your temper under control before you approach her," Carlisle said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Carlisle—"

"I don't need permission from you to speak to my own daughter."

"Dad!" I looked frantically back and forth between them completely caught off guard by the sudden confrontation in my apartment—and by the fact that neither one of them was paying me the slightest bit of attention.

"If you know what's good for you," Carlisle growled, "you'll walk out that door and leave her be."

"No, he doesn't have to leave." I pushed around Carlisle and stepped toward Charlie, but Carlisle pulled me back against his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around me, one hand settling over my throat.

Charlie's eyes widened, his face turning a frightening shade of purple as he went positively apoplectic. He started toward Carlisle, his fists balled up in front of him, but he had no idea what he was getting himself into. With speed I had never seen from him, Carlisle pushed me down onto the couch and jumped in front of me to meet Charlie. He threw a swift punch, catching Charlie hard across the jaw and sending him staggering back a couple of steps.

"Stop it!" I jumped up and inserted myself between them, trying to hold them apart as they closed on each other once again. "Jacob, help me!"

Jacob snapped out of his stunned silence and darted forward, dragging Charlie a safe distance back from Carlisle.

"Isabella Swan, get outside right now!" Charlie bellowed.

"No." Carlisle pulled me back into his arms again, murmuring softly to me. "Stay close to me. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Hurt me? No, Carlisle—"

"Jacob, let go of me. Isabella! I told you to get outside, young lady—"

"STOP IT!" I yelled, fighting the urge to clap my hands over my ears. "Both of you stop it right now! This is ridiculous!"

"Who the hell is he?" Charlie demanded, rubbing his jaw.

I looked back and forth between the two of them, but they didn't seem like they were going to start throwing punches again, so I crossed my arms over my chest. "Dad, this is Carlisle."

"Car—"

"Dr. Cullen," Carlisle interrupted him sharply, his eyes flashing.

Charlie raised a challenging eyebrow. "Doctor?"

"He's a professor at USC," I explained.

"God damn it, Bella! You're screwing around with your professor?"

"Not _my_ professor."

"_My_ professor," Jacob spoke up. He had moved behind Billy's wheelchair and was maneuvering it up over the low step and into the apartment.

I glared at him. "You're not helping."

He just shrugged.

"And I'm not 'screwing around' with him," I said, turning back to Charlie. "Carlisle is my boyfriend."

"Like hell, he is." Charlie started toward him again, but Jacob leapt forward and dragged him back by his collar as Carlisle pulled me against him.

"Dad, stop it." I glowered at him. "I don't know what's wrong with the two of you, but you're acting like bratty little kids."

"I can take care of this for you," Carlisle whispered, lowering his lips to my ear. "Say the word and I'll make sure he leaves and doesn't come back."

"What? No." I turned in his arms, giving him a puzzled look. "Carlisle, he's my dad."

"I know." He shot Charlie a dark look, fully aware that he could hear our conversation. "I understand if you feel you have a certain obligation to him, but you don't have to allow him to treat you this way."

"Treat me . . . what? He's just a little mad, that's all. I mean, sure, he's overreacting," I shot him a pointed look, "but it's not a big deal."

"I am _not_ overreacting! I walk in here to find some opportunistic sleaze taking advantage of my daughter—"

"If you can't be quiet I'm going to send you to my room," I interrupted.

His eyes darkened, but I only smirked.

"I mean it. As long as you're under my roof, you'll obey my rules. Now behave yourself."

"Maybe we should leave," Carlisle said. "We can go back to my house."

"We're not going anywhere. I want both of you to sit down and air your grievances like adults."

Carlisle regarded Charlie warily, and neither one of them made a move to sit down.

"Oh, for god's sake. You're both being ridiculous." I moved to the couch and sat down, hoping they would join me. "First of all, Dad, what are you doing here?"

"I . . ." He cleared his throat and glanced at Billy as Jacob wheeled him over to the couch. He shoved his hands in his pocket and looked down at the floor. "I wanted to surprise you for your birthday."

I turned back to Carlisle, one eyebrow raised. "See what I'm saying about surprises?"

He didn't even crack a smile.

"Will you _sit,_ please?"

He moved wordlessly to the couch and sat down beside me, taking my hand in his.

"Dad?"

He glowered at Carlisle and sat on my other side, also taking my hand. Billy followed, wheeling his chair next to the couch but keeping silent.

Jacob smirked at both of them and plopped down on the coffee table facing us. "I should have brought popcorn."

I ignored him and turned back to Charlie. "Thank you for coming. I mean it, it means a lot to me. But things would be a lot less awkward if you'd have called first."

"Things would be a lot less awkward if you weren't sleeping with your professors."

Carlisle tensed and I squeezed his hand, trying to keep him calm even as I felt myself getting irritated. "Seriously?" I said to Charlie. "Are you going to sit here and insult me? Because if so, maybe Carlisle is right. Maybe you should leave."

He pursed his lips in protest, but he looked contrite. "This is a bad idea, Bella."

"I'm willing to concede that the situation is potentially problematic, but I think Carlisle and I are doing a pretty good job of making it work."

"Bella, it's not his business," Carlisle said coldly.

I turned to him, feeling irritated. "Do you have to bait him? I honestly don't understand what has you so worked up."

He gave Charlie a hard look. "I don't appreciate the way he behaves toward you. Being your _father_ doesn't give him the right to mistreat you."

"Oh," I breathed. It was the distaste in his voice when he said the word "father" that made me realize what was wrong. I let go of Charlie's hand and covered his with both of mine. "Carlisle, it's not like that with us. My dad is good to me. Sometimes we don't see eye to eye, like now, but he's never . . . done _that._"

Carlisle gave Charlie a mistrustful look.

"Hey." I reached up and touched his cheek, guiding his gaze back down to mine. "Sometimes parents aren't so bad. In fact, sometimes they're pretty great. Charlie and I get along just fine."

Charlie cleared his throat pointedly at my use of his name, a habit he had never appreciated, but I just rolled my eyes.

"Of course, sometimes he overreacts over the most ridiculous little things and we end up arguing for a while, but I promise, he's not going to hurt me."

"Hurt you?" Charlie sounded even angrier than before. "You're accusing _me_ of abusing my daughter when you—"

"Dad, seriously, if you can't relax I'm going to make you stand in the corner."

"Bella—"

"No, I mean it. This sucks for you, I get it. It's not easy finding out that your daughter is dating an older man, and it's _really_ not easy finding that out about it the way you did. This hasn't been your day; I'll give you that.

"But the fact is, I _am_ dating an older man, and I think he's amazing. He's good to me, he's never tried to take advantage of me, and there's nothing about our relationship that either one of us needs to be ashamed of. I'm happy. If you choose to be unhappy, that's your problem. I don't want to hear about it."

Charlie stared at me, momentarily dumbstruck, and Jacob snickered.

"'Atta girl, Bella."

"Jacob, stay out of it," Billy said. He was staying characteristically quiet, letting Charlie and me work through our issues without interference, but I had no doubt I would hear from him eventually. I welcomed it. Billy's opinion carried weight because his words were usually carefully thought out.

At least, they were where I was concerned. With his own kids, he could be every bit as reactionary as Charlie, but then it was usually Charlie who was the one to offer his objectivity.

"This is a bad idea," Charlie said, drawing my attention back to him. "If you continue this farce of a relationship, you'll regret it."

I released Carlisle's had and folded my arms over my chest, leaning back against him as I glared at Charlie. "First of all, if you call my relationship a farce again, this conversation is over. Second, I don't believe I will regret it. But even if I do, that's my choice to make. I think Carlisle is worth the risk.

There was a knock on the open door, and Edward poked his head in. "Hey, Bella, do you—" He broke off, looking at the group gathered in the living room. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Do I what?"

He eyed Charlie and Carlisle, taking in their hostile body language, and a slow smile crossed his face. "I was going to ask if you had a fondue pot, but this is way more interesting." He crossed to the coffee table and nudged Jacob over, taking a seat next to him. "What's going on?"

"Bella's dad walked in on her and your dad making out on the couch, and then they yelled at each other, and then your dad punched her dad."

Charlie turned wide eyes on Edward. "This is his son?" he demanded, gaping at Edward. "He's the same age as you, Bella!"

"Older, actually," Edward said with a wide smile. He offered Charlie his hand. "How are you? I'm Edward, nice to meet you."

Charlie didn't bother shaking his hand. He turned back to me, his face going red. "Please tell me he's married. That would just be the icing on the cake."

"Thank you, father, for assuming the worst." I stood up and grabbed Carlisle's hand, pulling him up with me. "We're going for a walk, so that you have a chance to decide whether you want to talk rationally about this now, or leave for the night and try again in the morning."

"Can I come?" Edward asked brightly.

"No. Go home." I strode out the door without waiting for an answer, pulling Carlisle along after me.

The tension seemed to ease out of him as we walked across the parking lot to the sidewalk. The more space we put between us and my father, the more he relaxed. Finally, about a block away from the apartment, he stopped and pulled me into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just . . . I'm sorry."

"You should be." I tried to suppress my smile, but I couldn't. "You punched my dad in the face."

"He was yelling at you."

"Sometimes dads do that," I said with a shrug.

"They shouldn't."

"Whatever. You've yelled at Edward."

He looked away. "I'm not exactly a paragon of virtue. You shouldn't use my behavior as a model."

I laughed out loud at the absurdity of his position. "Are you kidding me? You honestly think it's wrong for parents to yell at their kids?"

"There are . . . better ways to handle things."

"Sure, I'll give you that. But people aren't perfect, and sometimes there's yelling." I pulled back and took his hands in mine. "Living one extreme has made you run to the other, Carlisle. You're an extreme pacifist. Which would be okay, except you let relatively mild friction freak you out."

He frowned.

"When you yelled at Edward, you thought it was the end of your relationship, didn't you? And now with dad and me fighting, you're getting all worked up again. But the fact is, disagreements are an inevitable part of a relationship."

Carlisle dropped his eyes and squeezed my hands. "I'm sorry. I'm . . . I'm out of my league, here. This is the sort of thing you shouldn't have to explain to me, and yet. . . ."

"I can think of worse things." I squeezed his hands back. "But we need some ground rules, okay? No more punching my dad."

He pressed his lips together, clearly unwilling to accept my terms. "If he lays a hand on you. . . ."

"Okay, fair enough. If my dad hurts me, you have my permission to kick his ass."

Carlisle blinked in surprise, and I smiled.

"That's how sure I am that he won't. It's a non-issue."

"He's very angry, Bella."

I grinned. "This is nothing. You should have seen him when I stole his gun out of his closet and accidentally shot out the tire on his police cruiser. I thought his head was going to explode."

Carlisle flinched, looking horrified at my story.

"But see, that's what I mean. He yelled so loud he made my ears ring, and he probably would have been justified in beating my ass black and blue, but he didn't. He doesn't do that."

He turned away, looking resigned, but kept one of my hands in his as he started walking again. For several long minutes he didn't say anything, but finally he spoke, his eyes fixed on some point far in the distance. "You didn't tell him about us."

It wasn't a question, and his bleak tone made me nervous. "Uh—no. Not yet."

Another long moment passed before he spoke again, his voice slightly colder this time. "I told you I wasn't interested in a relationship you were ashamed of."

"What?" I stopped again and pulled him around to face me. "I'm not ashamed of our relationship."

"Yet you didn't tell your father about it."

"I didn't want him to yell at me!"

His expression softened. "You're afraid of him?"

"No." I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling a little dizzy from the circular conversation. "I'm not afraid of my dad, but I knew he wasn't going to take it all that well, and I don't particularly _enjoy_ fighting with him." I looked up at Carlisle, silently praying that he would understand. "I knew I was going to have to tell him eventually. I guess I just put it off."

He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. "This . . . this is not something I know how to handle. On the one hand, I remember quite clearly how I felt about my father, and I want you as far away from that man as possible. On the other hand, I know how I feel about my son, and I'm terrified of coming between you two."

"My relationship with my dad isn't anywhere near as fucked up as your relationship was with yours. And it's not delicate, like your relationship with Edward is." I gazed up at him, willing him to trust me. "Just let me handle him. We've done this dance a hundred times, and we'll do it a hundred more. I know the steps pretty well by now."

"I'll stay close. Just in case."

I bit my lip, hoping what I was about to say wouldn't upset him too much. "Actually, maybe you should let me talk to him alone."

"No." His voice was gentle, but firm. "I won't risk it."

"There's no risk. Plus, he'll be less defensive if you're not there."

He gazed down at me, intense vulnerability shining in his eyes. "I'm afraid of losing you," he said frankly. "I'm afraid he'll make you see that I'm not suitable for you."

"But you are."

"I'm not, Bella." He shook his head sadly. "You deserve—"

"I deserve to be with the person I love. And so do you. I'm in this all the way, Carlisle. I didn't give up on us before, and I'm not going to now."

He slid his arms around my waist, cradling my head against his chest. He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was barely more than a whisper. "I'm not used to this. The last person—the only person—to offer me this kind of commitment . . . was Esme."

I smiled wryly. "Yeah, don't go leaving me for my own good like you did with her, okay? I should get a say in the matter."

He slid a hand up to the back of my neck, his fingertips circling around to rest on my pulse point. "I promise."

"Will you give me tonight to talk with my dad? Please?"

He nodded, looking resigned. "You'll call me when you're finished? To let me know you're all right?"

"It could be late," I warned.

"I understand."

I nodded. "I'll call you."

We headed back toward the apartment, strolling slowly, enjoying each other for a few more minutes before we had to rejoin the craziness inside my apartment. We didn't talk but I held Carlisle's hand and rubbed his arm, trying to communicate my dedication to him through body language.

Charlie was pacing the living room when I let us back into the apartment. He opened his mouth to speak, but I put up a hand to stop him. "In a minute." I glowered at Edward, who, of course, hadn't gone home, and then started helping Carlisle gather up his things. I walked him back to the door once he had everything, and he shot a dark look over my shoulder at Charlie before leaning down and kissing me deeply.

"Call me," he reminded me quietly, then pulled open the door and disappeared outside.

Edward was snickering from his perch on the coffee table. "Territorial motherfucker, isn't he?"

"Didn't I tell you to leave?" I asked irritably.

"Yeah, but by now you should be used to the fact that I never listen to you." His expression turned serious. "Is everything okay?"

I shook my head dismissively. "You think _you_ have daddy issues."

He snickered again.

I moved to Billy's side, leaning down for a hug and a peck on the cheek. "It's good to see you again, Billy."

"You too, Bella. Only I have to say, I'm pretty surprised by the circumstances." He raised an eyebrow at me as I pulled away. "You've never been one to make foolish decisions."

I braced a hand on my hip. "You're right, I haven't. Which is why I would think you'd give me the benefit of the doubt, instead of assuming that I've jumped into some kind of seedy relationship with my professor." I was speaking to Billy, but my comments were aimed directly at my father.

"She's got a point," Edward said.

"Shut up, Edward."

"What? I was taking your side!"

"I don't need you to take my side, I need you to go home."

He snorted. "Yeah, like there's much chance of that."

Charlie ignored him. "After what I walked in on, you expect me to believe that you're not being taken advantage of? He was lying on top of you!"

"And I wasn't complaining," I said, wishing the confidence in my tone wasn't being undermined by the heat creeping across my cheeks. I may not have been ashamed of my relationship, but talking about this with my father was just plain embarrassing.

"That's not right, Bella."

"Why not? You weren't nearly this upset about me sleeping with Mike."

"Mike wasn't twice your age!"

I could tell that Charlie wasn't in the right mindset for a rational conversation, so I decided to redirect. I hadn't even said a proper hello to him. I dropped the arms that I had folded over my chest and crossed the room to him, hugging him around the waist. "Thanks for coming to visit me. I've really missed you."

"Are you trying to change the subject?" he asked gruffly, his arms wrapping around me.

"No. I'm just trying to put it off until after I've told my dad that I love him and I'm happy to see him. Don't worry, you can yell at me some more in a minute."

He squeezed me tightly and kissed the top of my head. "I'm happy to see you too, baby girl."

"How's Sue?" I asked, peeking up at him. I expected him to get self-conscious and glance away, but he just looked puzzled. "Sue? She's fine. Says to send you her love."

"That's sweet of her." I watched for a reaction, but he didn't seem interested in talking about Sue.

"Are you going to tell me what's been going on?"

I pulled back and grabbed his hand, tugging him back to the couch and settling down on it. "What's to tell? I started dating a guy. You disapprove. This is pretty much par for the course, isn't it?"

"I'm not that bad. I haven't disapproved of _all_ your boyfriends."

I arched an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe I haven't exactly _approved_ of them, but that's not the same thing."

I snorted. "I'm glad you see a difference."

"How'd you meet this Cullen guy?" he asked, steering us back on track.

"The library. I was doing homework, he was researching for a book. I saw him every day for months, and then one day we started talking."

"And that's when he convinced you that it wasn't sick and perverted for a professor to date a student?"

"No, that's when _I_ convinced _him._"

Charlie let out an exasperated sigh. "You see this?" he said, pointing to his graying temples. "This is because of you."

I giggled.

"Bella," Billy said, reaching out to put a hand on my knee, "there are good reasons that people usually date within their peer group."

"Like what?"

"Expectations," he said simply. "People want different things at different points in their lives. For example, your professor might be in a much bigger hurry to get married and settle down than you are."

"Trust me, Carlisle isn't in any rush. In fact, I'm not sure he'll ever want to get married."

"And what about you?" Charlie asked. "That's not very fair to you."

I shrugged. "I'm not all that motivated to get married, either. What's the big deal if we don't?"

"You're okay living your life without a commitment from him?" Jacob asked, sounding appalled.

"Who says we can't commit? I love him, and if things keep going the way they're going, I expect I'll move in with him eventually."

Edward snorted. "Like he doesn't already practically live here."

Charlie turned wide eyes on Edward, who threw up his hands defensively.

"Don't look at me, I tried to break the two of them up. It wouldn't stick."

Charlie turned to me, gesturing toward Edward. "You see? This relationship obviously makes Cullen's son uncomfortable."

"Oh, it does not. Edward was just being a little shit."

"That's true, I was," Edward agreed remorselessly.

"What about children?" Billy asked. "He's obviously already past that point in his life. Do you think he would want to do it again?"

"I know he wouldn't. Choosing a future with Carlisle means choosing a future without kids. But I was never really all that excited about having kids, so that wasn't a hard decision for me."

"Besides, she can be my mommy," Edward said with a wide grin.

"Edward, go home."

"No." He smirked. "You can't tell me what to do, you're not my mommy."

Jacob seemed to think he was hilarious, but Charlie and Billy both gave him bemused looks.

"Is he always like this?" Charlie asked.

"Pretty much."

He heaved a sigh. "Look, baby, it's not just about expectations and choices. Having a relationship with someone that much older than you . . . it causes an imbalance of power."

"Power?" I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. "Since when are relationships about power?"

"Since always. It can be really difficult to find the right balance."

"He's right," Billy said. "When you two disagree on something, you're less likely to stand up for yourself if you see your partner as wiser and more experienced."

"Hm." Edward looked at me thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think Bella really has a problem there. In fact, if anything, I think the old man pretty much lets her call the shots. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Charlie said warily.

Edward grinned. "He doesn't like it when she gets mad at me." He kicked my foot and I kicked him back.

"He's irrationally protective of Edward."

"It's not irrational," he said indignantly. "I'm his only child, the hope of his genetic future. Plus, I'm delightful."

I snickered, but Charlie just frowned at him. "Bella, maybe we could take a walk? I'd really like it if we could have a _private_ conversation."

Edward laughed and pushed himself to his feet. "Okay, okay, I'm leaving." He leaned down and planted a kiss on my lips, jumping back with a smirk before I could shove him away.

"Would you quite doing that?" I demanded irritably.

"What, a boy can't show his future step-mommy how much he loves her?" He winked at me and waved to Charlie. "See ya, Gramps."

Charlie's eyes went wide, but Edward was out the door before he had time to respond.

"Jacob," Billy said softly, "why don't you and I give Charlie and Bella a few minutes? We can go pick up something for dinner." "Sure," Jacob said. He kissed me as well—on the cheek, which I much preferred—and he and Billy headed outside, carefully maneuvering the wheelchair down the low step before pulling the door closed behind them.

"Dad, I love him," I said before he could raise any more objections. "I know it makes you uncomfortable, but there isn't much I wouldn't do to make things work with Carlisle."

"Have you thought about the fact that he's going to die earlier than you?" Charlie asked. "I mean, let's say he lives into his seventies. That means you'll be, what, in your fifties? That may seem old to you now, but it's amazing how fast that comes. Do you really think you'll be prepared to lose him that young?"

"No," I said solemnly. "I'll never be ready to lose him. But I'm not going to pass up the chance of a relationship with him just because I'm going to lose him someday."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably, sitting back on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. "Baby, you're twenty-one years old. You're too young to be making long-term decisions like this. You're supposed to be out on your own, learning, exploring, figuring out who you are."

"I am. And it's amazing—no less so because I'm doing it with someone that I love."

"And what happens if you learn something about yourself that doesn't . . . doesn't _fit_ with your relationship."

I cocked my head. "What do you mean."

"I mean . . . well . . ." He shifted again. "Baby, I love your mother. I always will, you know that."

I was utterly perplexed by the shift in the conversation. "Yeah, I know."

"When I married her, I couldn't . . . I didn't . . . there were things I didn't understand about myself."

"Like what?"

He tightened his arms around his chest, staring at his knees. "Bella, I'm gay."

My jaw dropped.

He cast a furtive glance at me, and then looked away quickly.

I stared at him for long, shocked moment before logic started working its way through my brain. "No you're not," I said, confused. "You can't be. What about Sue?"

It was Charlie's turn to be confused. "What about Sue?"

"You're dating her!"

"What? What gave you that idea?"

"Rachel said everybody knows . . . and you guys sent me care packages."

Charlie snorted. "That's just Sue being a mother hen. With Harry gone and her kids getting more independent, she needed somebody to take care of. She does the same thing for Jacob."

"Oh." That made sense, but I was having a hard time shifting gears in my head. My dad _wasn't_ dating Sue Clearwater? My dad was _gay?_ How was that even possible? "Holy shit."

Charlie winced, and he looked at me with a mixture of fear, anxiety, longing, and even a little defensiveness that seemed oddly familiar. It took me a moment to place it as the same mix of emotions I had seen on Carlisle's face so often when Edward was giving him a hard time.

My dad was afraid I would reject him.

I reached across the space between us and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. And my dad, who was always so uncomfortable with any kind of affectionate display, melted and hugged me back, crushing me against him.

"I love you so much," I said, clinging to him.

"I love you too, baby."

I hugged him for several long moments, reassuring him that he had nothing to worry about, but I was burning with curiosity. New questions kept popping up as I shuffled through a lifetime of memories, looking at them in a whole new light. Twenty years worth of summers in Forks, fishing trips, sleepovers with Jacob. . . .

"Billy!" I exclaimed, jumping back with a start.

Charlie smiled sheepishly, crossing his arms over his chest again.

"Those weren't fishing trips, those were booty calls!"

I was only teasing, but Charlie hunched his shoulders and glowered down at the floor.

I clapped my hands over my mouth. "Oh my god, they _were!_"

"They weren't _booty calls_," he grumbled. "We went fishing. That's all. We just . . . got a little closer after a while."

"After how long a while? Were you screwing around with Billy when you were married to Mom?"

"No, Bella, and that's exactly my point. This wasn't something I understood about myself when I was your age. What if you learned something like that about yourself—something big—only you were tied down to this professor of yours and didn't have the freedom to explore it?"

I considered his words for a minute before giving a nod of concession. "Okay, that's a valid point. But at what age should I be confident that I know myself well enough that I can settle down with someone? How long do I have to wait to be happy?"

"I don't know." He sighed and slid an arm around my waist. "Maybe you're right to go for it. I sure as hell don't pretend to have all the answers."

"Okay, how about this?" I said. "I promise to be open to any new developments that I discover about myself, regardless of the situation that I might be in. I promise to be honest about them with you and with Carlisle, and to make responsible and thoughtful decisions about them as they come up."

Charlie chuckled and shook his head. "I swear, Bella. Sometimes I think you were a better parent to your mom and me than we ever were to you."

I shrugged. "Maybe our family is a little abnormal, but it's a good one. Carlisle tells me sometimes that he envies our relationships because he never had anything like them."

"Carlisle." Charlie sighed heavily. "Do you know how weird it is trying to think of a man my own age as a potential son-in-law?"

"Do you know how weird it is to suddenly find out that Billy is more than just your best friend?"

He smiled ruefully.

"How long?" I asked him. "When did you two start . . . ?"

Thankfully, he jumped in and didn't make me clarify my question. "You remember that Pride Festival that you and Jacob wanted to go to when you were fifteen?"

I laughed. "I remember you wouldn't let me."

"You're damn right, I wouldn't let you, and it was a good decision. You were too young for all that . . . adult content."

I snickered. "You remember high school, don't you?"

He glowered at me, but ignored me. "Anyway, I went to it, and I realized that times were changing. I talked to Billy about it and . . . things just sort of happened."

"Wow." I mulled over this new information in my head. "You guys waited a _long_ time."

He was back to being self-conscious again. "Well, you know. He had Sarah, and then she died and it took him a long time to get over that." He hunched his shoulders again, clearly uncomfortable about sharing the details of his relationship.

"Are you happy?" I asked him.

He nodded, staring at his hands. "It's Billy. How could I not be happy?"

His answer put a smile on my face. "That's all I need to know."

"That's what I want for you too," he said, giving me a squeeze.

"Oh yeah? You know what would go a long way toward making me happy? If you would be nice to Carlisle." I gave him a pointed look and he grimaced.

"He's the one who punched me, you know."

"He's protective. And he's sensitive to violence. He didn't like you yelling at me."

"You won't let him hold you back?" he asked.

"I promise."

"All right, fine. I'll . . . try to be nicer."

"Thank you." I stood up and pulled my phone from my pocket. "I'm going to give him a call and let him know that we've worked things out so he'll quit worrying. And you might want to put some ice on your jaw. It's starting to bruise."

"Bella," Charlie said before I could leave, "maybe you could . . . ask him if he wants to come back and have dinner with us."

"Really?"

He scowled, his invitation obviously a reluctant one. "If he's going to be a part of your life, I guess he and I are going to have to get to know each other."

I smiled broadly and bent down to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Daddy! You're the best!"


	26. That Meat Which Endureth

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

**Great big thanks go out to NixHaw for her beta work. She makes sure I don't confuse archaeology with paleontology, and I really appreciate that.**

* * *

><p><strong>26. That Meat Which Endureth<strong>

Carlisle showed up at my door only a couple of minutes after I had called him, with Edward in tow. I'd assumed he had gone home, but I couldn't help feeling pleased that he had apparently gone to see Edward instead.

He kissed me hello, and then turned to Charlie and offered his hand. "I owe you an apology," he said. "I judged you by the actions of others, and I'm sorry."

Charlie raised his eyebrows in surprise as he shook Carlisle's hand. "I may have jumped to a conclusion or two myself," he conceded.

I grinned and kissed Charlie on the cheek, noting Edward's approving look as he clapped Carlisle on the back. I led them to the couch again and sat between them while Edward perched on the arm of the couch next to Carlisle.

"So, Swan," Edward said to Charlie. "Tell us about yourself."

"Well, um . . . I'm the Chief of Police in Forks."

Carlisle brought a hand up to rub his forehead. "Of course you are," he muttered under his breath.

Charlie arched an eyebrow. "Is that a problem for you?"

"Probably," Edward snickered. "He only spent most of his childhood running from people like you."

"Edward," I said sharply, shooting him a glare.

"What? It's not like your dad couldn't find out about it on his own. _You_ did, after all."

Carlisle pushed himself off of the couch and stepped away. For a moment I was afraid he was going to leave, but he just paced in front of the patio doors, one hand still pressed to his forehead.

"Brutal honesty, right Pop?" Edward said.

Carlisle nodded, not looking at him.

Charlie cleared his throat. "What's this all about?"

"The old man ran drugs when he was a kid," Edward said in his usual unapologetic way.

I felt Charlie stiffen beside me. "Excuse me?"

"I know, it's fucked up, right? His father was one twisted son of a bitch."

"Is this true?" Charlie demanded.

Carlisle nodded again.

"But you're cool with that, right Chief?" Edward said, the slightest edge creeping into his voice. "Because you're a rational man, and you know he can't be held responsible for the shit his parents made him do."

Charlie ground his teeth. "Of course not."

"There, Pop, you see? No big deal. I'm sure Charlie would rather be pissed at you for banging his daughter than for delivering narcotics."

Thankfully, Billy and Jacob returned then with a stack of pizza boxes. They spread them out on the coffee table, and for the next few minutes everyone focused on collecting plates, filling glasses, and finding seats around the living room. Jacob claimed an entire pizza for himself, and Edward sat beside him, pestering him by randomly snatching olives off of his pizza.

"How has Bella not killed you yet?" Jacob finally exclaimed in frustration.

Edward just grinned. "Bella has to be nice to me. It bugs her boyfriend when she isn't."

"That doesn't mean I won't ground you again," Carlisle said with a smirk. "Behave yourself and keep your fingers off of Jacob's pizza."

Edward's smile broadened. "Yes, father."

"So, Dr. Cullen," Billy said, obviously trying to draw him into conversation. "Tell us what's new in . . . archeology. . . ."

He frowned at his contradictory question, but Carlisle immediately launched into a description of the Wenas Creek dig site that he and Edward had visited. Edward threw in comments every now and then, looking proud of himself every time Carlisle flashed him a gratified smile.

It was almost unreal. When I thought back to how cold the two of them had been to one another when they first met, I could hardly believe that the same two people were sitting here now, talking about mammoth remains.

Their story was interrupted a few minutes later, however, when the door flew open and banged against the wall. A writhing mass of humanity stumbled through, and it took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Emmett was staggering his way through the door, unable to see properly, due to the Alice that was wrapped around him, attacking his face with her lips.

Charlie cleared his throat, glaring at the two of them.

"Isabella, is this all you kids do around here? Because I was under the impression that you came to California to get an education."

Emmett froze in the doorway and Alice craned her head around to look at us.

"Whoa, there's a lot of people here."

"Don't mind us," I said with a grin. "Carry on."

Emmett scanned the crowd of faces, all turned toward him, and then looked back at Alice.

"My place?"

"Your place," she agreed, and the two of them disappeared out the door again.

Charlie turned an accusing look on me.

I rolled my eyes. "Father, I'm sure you'd prefer to think of me as an asexual being, just as I'd prefer not to think too hard about you and Billy rolling around in the sheets—"

"Aw, Bella, come on!" Jacob threw his arms up in front of his face as though he were trying to ward off a physical assault

"But we both know that's not very realistic," I continued, ignoring Jacob. "We can talk about the extent of my sexual involvement with various men, but I'm pretty sure it'll make us both very uncomfortable."

Charlie looked away, grumbling something about me being too pragmatic for my own good.

And that pretty much killed the conversation. We sat in awkward silence for a few moments, each of us wondering what to say next. Carlisle's hand drifted back to my throat, drawing Charlie's irritable gaze, but before he could say anything, Edward cut him off.

"We obviously need a distraction. Bella, how'd you like to get your birthday presents a day early?"

"Presents! Yes!" I latched onto his suggestion like it was a life preserver.

"Oh, ah . . . presents." Charlie turned to Billy. "Do you remember where we packed Bella's gift?"

"I put it in the side pocket of the suitcase in the trunk," Billy told him.

"I'll just go get that." He gave my knee a squeeze and then hurried outside.

"Wait," I said, suddenly realizing what Billy had said. "_You_ packed it? Are you . . . you and Charlie . . . are you guys living together?"

Billy cleared his throat, suddenly finding his hands very interesting. "Well, you know, after Jacob left I needed help at home . . . Sue did a lot, but with you and Jacob away we were both living alone . . . It's only been a couple of months."

Jacob stared at him incredulously. "A couple of months? That's it? You two are the slowest movers _in the world_."

"Right?" I agreed. "We've been moved out for years. What the hell were you waiting for?"

Jacob didn't wait for him to answer. "I don't understand why you didn't just tell us. Did you really think we would care?"

Billy just shrugged, but Carlisle spoke, his voice low and solemn. "There's more to it than you realize. Telling you means telling everyone, and while the two of you have grown up in a relatively tolerant generation, there are those who will be less accepting of your fathers' choices. It's not a decision to be made lightly."

"Well if you're going to be all practical about it," Jacob muttered.

Billy fixed him with a stern look. "Is that how you speak to your professors?"

"Just the ones who sleep with my best friend."

"Behave yourself," I told him, "or I'll spit in your pizza."

He gasped dramatically. "You wouldn't dare."

My daring went untested, though, because Charlie returned then, carrying a small, square box wrapped in bright paper. He sat down beside me and thrust it into my hands.

"Happy birthday," he said. "This is from Billy and me."

I tore off the paper and lifted the lid off of the little black box. Inside lay a silver charm bracelet with a set of tiny white and brown charms dangling from it.

"We carved them from elk ivory," he said. "We thought we'd do objects to commemorate your time at school, so we made a stack of books, a computer, a graduation cap . . . just a few little things."

I lifted the bracelet out of the box, gazing in wonder at the intricate carving and the beautiful brown swirls in the bone. "You guys, this is beautiful!" I set the box aside and hugged Charlie tightly, then stood up and hugged Billy as well.

"Here, help me put it on." I extended my wrist and pushed back the bracelet that Carlisle had given me to let Charlie put the charm bracelet on.

"What's that?" he asked as he fastened the clasp, taking a closer look.

"Carlisle gave it to me. It's made from fossils the jeweler found around Wenas Creek."

Charlie cleared his throat and glanced down at his hands. "I guess you didn't really need another bracelet, did you?"

"Are you kidding? Dad, this is amazing. I love it."

He gave my shoulders a squeeze and kissed the top of my head.

"My turn," Jacob said. "He lifted a slice of pizza out of the box he had commandeered for himself and presented it to me. "For you, Bella. I love you this much."

I giggled and threw a crumpled napkin at him.

"Are you ready for ours?" Edward asked, putting his pizza aside.

"Ours?" I looked between him and Carlisle. "As in, the two of you stopped arguing long enough to pick out a present together?"

One corner of Carlisle's mouth pulled up in a wry grin. "I don't know if we 'stopped arguing' so much as 'arguedmore,' but yes, we did eventually come to a decision." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring that held two heavy keys and an electronic fob, all emblazoned with Honda logos.

I gaped at it. "You can't be serious." I glanced up at Carlisle to see that yes, he was indeed serious. "Carlisle, you can't—that's too much!"

He pressed the keys into my palm and curled my fingers around them.

"After what you've done for me, nothing is too much." He glanced at Edward, and then back at me. "I'll never be able to thank you properly for that."

"Besides," Edward interrupted, "that truck you drive now is an environmental nightmare."

Charlie cleared his throat pointedly. "We gave her that truck."

"And I love it," I said quickly. "But, well . . . it _is_ expensive to run. And lately I've been a little worried about it overheating. It doesn't seem to handle the Los Angeles summers very well."

"Your new Civic Hybrid gets forty-four miles to the gallon in the city," Edward said, "plus it measured up to Carlisle's obsessive safety standards. It's a great car."

"Do you want to see it?" Carlisle asked me.

I grinned. "Is it here?"

"It's been in the parking lot for a week."

I laughed and let him pull me to my feet, then followed him out the door. Edward and Jacob followed, and Charlie wheeled Billy as far as the doorway.

Carlisle led me to a silver sedan in the lot and stopped behind it. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think I'm spoiled! I can't believe you actually bought me a car." I hit the button on the key fob to unlock the door and slid into the driver's seat, my eyes picking out features that my truck hadn't had. Cruise control, air bags, even a large GPS screen. "Carlisle, this is amazing." I climbed out of the car and threw my arms around him, giving him a deep, warm kiss.

"What about me?" Edward asked. "It's from me too, you know."

I grinned and let go of Carlisle, giving Edward a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, too. I really love it."

He wrapped an arm around my waist as we headed back to the apartment, but once inside I found Charlie and Billy getting ready to leave.

"You're not going already, are you?"

Charlie shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "It's getting late. We still need to find a motel to stay at tonight."

"You don't need to go to a motel," I protested. "Stay here. Just give me a couple of minutes to change the linens on my bed, and you guys can have that."

"What about you?"

I was about to tell him I could sleep on the couch when Carlisle caught my hand. "You can stay at my house tonight," he said softly, and I could see the pleading in his eyes.

"Perfect. See? I'll go make up the bed."

Charlie followed me as I grabbed some sheets out of my closet and started stripping off the old linens. "Baby, you don't have to do this. We don't want to be in your way."

"Since when is visiting being in the way?"

"Things are obviously different now," he said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

"What? How are they different?"

"You've got your boyfriend, and . . ." He sighed heavily and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I get it. It's just hard for a father when he realizes that his baby doesn't need him anymore."

"Dad, that's crazy talk." I dropped the sheets and braced my hands on my hips. "You know I've never needed you."

He blew out his breath in a huff and patted my cheek in a mock slap. "Smart ass."

I grabbed his hand and held it tightly. "People don't grow out of family. I'm always going to need my daddy."

He pulled me into a tight hug and rocked me back and forth. "I know I haven't always been the best father," he said, his cheek resting against the top of my head. "But I love you more than any father has ever loved his little girl, and I always will. You remember that. If you ever need help with _anything_, you can come to me."

"Good, because I need help making the bed." I grinned and snatched up the fitted sheet, handing him one side of it so he could help me stretch it over the mattress.

Jacob popped in the bedroom door and dragged a spare blanket out of the top of my closet.

"Hey Bella, I'm crashing on your couch tonight, okay?"

"Fine, but if you use up all my milk again, you have to buy me some more."

He turned and yelled out the bedroom door, "Dad, Bella needs you to buy her some more milk!"

I laughed and Charlie rolled his eyes. "At least I can count on _one_ of you kids never growing up."

Jacob threw the blanket over his shoulder and strode out of the room, whistling music from Peter Pan as he went.

We finished making the bed and I threw a few things into an overnight bag, then kissed Dad and Billy goodbye. Carlisle and I headed out the door with Edward in tow, promising that we would be back in the morning.

"I should crash at your place so I don't have to listen to Emmett and Alice go at it," Edward said as we crossed the parking lot.

Carlisle cocked an eyebrow. "You can listen to them or you can listen to us. It's your choice."

"Yeah, like I said, I'm going home." He grinned. "Are we running tomorrow?"

Carlisle smiled down at me and hugged me to his side. "I thought I'd take tomorrow off."

"Damn." He shook his head. "I really need a girlfriend." He turned away with a wave and headed off to his apartment.

I tugged my keys out of my pocket and jangled them in front of Carlisle. "We're taking my car, right?"

"If you'd like," he said with a laugh. He steered me toward my new car, but once inside he grew quiet. He said very little on the drive home, choosing instead to stare mutely out the window, and I started to worry that he was over-thinking things again.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He reached out and squeezed my hand, giving me a forced smile. "Fine."

Which meant, of course, that he wasn't fine. I chewed at my lip, debating whether to press him to talk about whatever was bothering him or let him work things out on his own. I chose silence for now, keeping my thoughts to myself until we pulled up and parked at the curb.

Carlisle took my bag and carried it into the house, moving wordlessly to the bedroom while I trailed after him. Once I closed the door behind me, though, he set my bag down and turned to face me. He held a hand out to me and I took it, letting him draw me into his arms.

"I was scared tonight," he said quietly. "With your father as angry as he was . . . I really thought that was it for us."

"Carlisle—"

"I know." He gave me a sad smile. "It's not your fault. I have my issues with trust and abandonment. But it made me think about some things that I've tried not to acknowledge, and Bella?" He paused, taking my face between his hands. "I'm going to need you to marry me."

I was so taken aback by his words that I laughed out loud. "What?"

"I know you deserve better than me, and I have no right to ask this of you, but I'm getting out of the habit of denying myself. I'm not willing to give you up."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," I said. "You know I don't need it, right? I'm committed to you, ceremony or not."

"_I_ need it. The promises, the permanence . . ." He dropped his hands to my hips and pulled me against him. "I didn't even realize how much." He leaned down and nuzzled my neck, his warm breath fluttering across my skin. "I won't rush you. I can wait while you finish school and get your career started. But I want to be very clear about my intentions. I don't plan on being your boyfriend forever, Isabella. I mean to be your husband."

I grinned and tilted my head to allow him better access. "Look at you, being all traditional. Is this the same guy who sat with me in the park and told me he wasn't a family man?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. When I'm with you, I feel as though I've been reborn."

I slid my hand up his chest and gripped his tie, tugging him with me as I moved away from the door. "Come to bed with me, Carlisle. I want to show this sexy new man how much I love him."

He scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the bed, kissing me deeply as he lowered me down onto his mattress. His lips travelled over my skin as our hands fumbled with buttons and fastenings, tugging and wrestling until we were free of our clothes and wrapped together in a sweaty, panting tangle.

"Bella . . . my sweet girl." He groaned against my skin, his lips sucking at my neck as he thrust deep inside of me. "Say yes, Bella. Tell me you'll marry me."

"Yes." There was no hesitation as I dug my fingers into his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. "I belong to you, Carlisle. I always will. I love you. I love you."

I repeated the words like a mantra as he drove my need for him higher and higher, urging me to the brink and clutching my body against his as I tumbled over the edge, calling his name in breathless ecstasy.


	27. Epilogue: Of One Blood

**It's finished! No, really, I mean it this time. This is how it really _should_ have ended, it just took me a while to realize that. So here you go, the real thing.**

**Thanks so much to NixHaw for the beta work. She's lovely, even when I use Bible quotes as chapter titles instead of fun, playlist-enabling song titles. I love her more than Neil Diamond. AND the Monkees. Put together.**

****Bella and her friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.****

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue: Of One Blood<strong>

**2016**

"Yes! Carlisle, _fuck!_"

I tightened my fingers in his hair as his solid weight pressed me down into the mattress. He moaned as he drove into me over and over again, his mouth leaving a hot trail up my neck.

"Bella . . . my sweet girl. . . ." He caught my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring and caressing while one hand ran up and down the leg I had wrapped around his waist.

It was the most amazing thing I had ever felt. But then, every time with Carlisle was amazing. I was madly in love with a man who loved me just as much in return, and if that didn't make me the luckiest girl in the world then the mind-blowing sex pushed me over the top. I clung to him, gasping for breath as I rode the waves of pleasure that his touch sent coursing through my body. I was tensing up, edging closer and closer to my release . . .

And then the phone rang.

"That little shit!"

Carlisle groaned softly as he rolled off of me and fumbled through the pockets of his hastily-discarded pants, looking for his cell phone. "Edward?" he said urgently, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Every fucking time," I muttered, and then raised my voice so Edward would hear. "Every fucking time!"

Carlisle laughed sheepishly. "Of course. We'll be right there."

"He's like a damn psychic," I muttered, stumbling out of bed and dragging on clothes. I was practically hyperventilating from the interruption and the nagging need for _satisfaction,_ damn it, but I knew I wasn't going to get it tonight. This was one of those times when Edward came first.

Stupid Edward.

I stopped for a moment and watched Carlisle step into his pants and pull them on, taking in the lean lines of his body and his deliciously tousled hair. How the man managed to look so sexy when he was putting _on_ clothes, I would never know. He was too beautiful to be believed, and I found myself grinning like a fool despite my frustration over the interruption.

Carlisle caught me looking at him and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Nothing," I said, finishing with the buttons on my shirt. "I'll ogle you later."

He tugged on his shirt and made a half-hearted effort to straighten his hair with his fingers. "Here we go again."

"Relax and breathe. Do you want me to drive?"

He shook his head. "I need the distraction."

The trip to the hospital was quick. Edward had at least had the decency to call late at night this time, instead of during rush hour like the last two times. I could tell that Carlisle was trying to feign nonchalance, but his silence and the white-knuckled grip he kept on the steering wheel betrayed his nerves.

"Third time's a charm," I said, producing some trite words of comfort from my bag of clichés.

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch," he quipped back.

I grinned at him as he parked the car, and the two of us headed inside.

"Edward and Tanya Platt?" he said to the receptionist inside the main doors.

She typed the names into her computer.

"Mrs. Platt was admitted about five minutes ago. You can wait for her in the third floor waiting room."

"Thank you."

I sent a quick text message to Edward as we made our way to the elevators, letting him know we were here, and by the time we reached the third floor he was striding down the hall toward us. He closed the distance quickly and caught Carlisle up in an enthusiastic hug.

"It's for real this time," he said. "She's at four centimeters."

"How is she?" I asked.

"Cranky. Seriously, I can't wait to get that thing out of her. I want my wife back."

"That _thing?_ You're going to be such a good father."

"I know, right? Whoa, hey, hold on there, Pop."

Carlisle had turned on his heel and started toward the elevator, his nerves finally getting the better of him, but Edward grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Listen, I need your help with something." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed it into Carlisle's hand. "Mom's going to call when she has her flight information. Can you make sure she has a car to meet her at the airport? Also, we haven't gotten through to Tanya's parents, so if you could keep trying to call them, that'd be really great."

Carlisle stared down at the phone and nodded. "Sure. Of course."

I gave Edward a discreet thumbs-up.

"Cool. Their number is in my phone under Eleazar." He nudged my shoulder and gestured to Carlisle, who still wasn't looking at him. "You got this?"

"I've got it. Go help your wife have a baby."

Edward headed back down the hall as I steered Carlisle into the waiting room. He was distracted by the task Edward had given him for a few minutes, but when he only got Eleazar's voice mail he hung up and started pacing.

"I shouldn't be here," he muttered.

I took a deep breath and braced myself to go over the same arguments we'd had every time Edward had dragged us to the hospital.

"Of course you should. That baby is your grandson."

"All the more reason for me to protect him by staying away."

"You're not a danger to him."

"I'm a danger to everyone."

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Carlisle clung _so hard_ to his guilt, and it was nearly impossible to convince him to let it go.

"Okay, let's look at this logically. What are you worried about specifically?"

"That he'll . . . be influenced by me. That he'll turn out like I did."

"Like you, meaning . . ."

"Violent. Cruel."

I shook my head and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "You're not violent or cruel, but for argument's sake, let's say you are. How did you get that way?"

"By living it." He dropped wearily into the chair next to me. "By seeing it around me, all the time."

I took his hand and squeezed it. "Exactly. It's not some infectious disease that he's going to catch from you. If this kid is going to learn violence from you he has to _see_ it."

Carlisle looked at me, his brow furrowing.

"How long has it been since you acted on any of these alleged violent impulses?"

He scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned forward on his knees. "A long time."

"There you go. I think it's safe for you to be around Edward's kid every now and then."

He was silent for a long moment, staring blankly in front of him. I wondered if he was finally going to drop it, but eventually he sighed.

"I have no right to be here," he said. "I wasn't there when Edward was born."

Ah. We had reached the root of the problem. I nudge his shoulder in order to turn him toward me, and then took his hands in mine.

"It's not about rights. It's about responsibility. Edward asked you to be here for him; he's depending on you."

He nodded, and I thought I saw gratitude in his eyes. "You're right. Thank you."

Esme called a few minutes later, and Carlisle booked her a car. Shortly after that he was able to get through to Tanya's parents, who had been at the theater with their phones turned off. They also booked a flight, though it wouldn't leave until the next morning, and Carlisle made sure they would have transportation from the airport as well.

It was too bad, really, that he got everything taken care of so quickly, because once he was done we were left with nothing to do but wait. And the waiting was _long._ We alternated between slumping against one another in a corner and gulping down coffee to try and keep ourselves awake. Edward would come out every half hour or so and keep us updated on Tanya's progress, but it was slow going. The doctors predicted a long night, and all we could do was make the best of it.

"How is she?" I asked Edward when he had appeared and begged Carlisle to run to the cafeteria and fetch him some coffee.

"She keeps yelling at me," he complained, poking his lip out. "And she told me _I_ have to have the next one."

"It'd serve you right. Douchebag."

"Aw, you're not still sore over the whole coitus interruptus thing, are you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Every _fucking_ time, Edward Platt."

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you two fuck like jackrabbits. How many years have you been married, now? Aren't you supposed to get tired of each other or something?"

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen his _abs?_"

"Shut up," he said, holding a hand up to cut me off.

"Whatever. You're in so much trouble for robbing me of my rightful orgasm."

He snorted. "What are you going to do, make me stand in the corner?"

"Worse." I narrowed my eyes. "I'm going to drink _all_ the coffee, and not leave any for you."

He gasped dramatically. "You bitch!"

"Watch your language, young man! Or your kid's going to have as foul a mouth as you do."

"Fuck that." He smirked. "Today is the last day I can cuss freely. I'm living this shit up."

Carlisle reappeared then with a tray of coffee cups and a small vase of roses. "Give Tanya our love," he said, handing Edward the vase and one of the cups.

"I will, but I'm taking credit for the flowers." He grinned sheepishly. "I need the good will more than you do right now."

"You're welcome to it," Carlisle said with a chuckle.

"You're my hero." Edward raised his coffee cup in salute and headed back to the hospital room.

And then we waited some more. We dozed, flipped through magazines, played Scrabble on our cell phones, and generally did anything we could think of to kill time as hour after hour dragged by.

I felt sorry for Tanya. She had to be completely miserable.

Other people occasionally wandered into the waiting room, but they left not long after, their own loved ones apparently having a much easier time of it than poor Tanya. We generally ignored each other, but there was one man who kept shooting disapproving glances at Carlisle and me. I was used to this kind of thing. Most people were fine with our unconventional relationship, or at least kept their feelings about it to themselves, but every now and then there was someone who felt the need to make sure we knew we were being judged. Our new waiting room companion was one of them. I dismissed him at first, but when he continued to glare in our direction I met his gaze and arched an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say what he was thinking.

He snorted in disgust and turned away, but after that he made himself less conspicuous.

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Edward reappeared looking exhausted, but elated.

"I'm a dad!" he announced.

Carlisle jumped to his feet and wrapped his son up in a hug.

I took my turn after Carlisle let him go, squeezing him tightly. "What does he look like? Is he beautiful?"

"He's all red and a little scrunched looking," he replied with a laugh. "But yeah . . . he's the most perfect little thing I've ever seen."

"How's Tanya?" Carlisle asked.

"She's tired—but in a much better mood. They're cleaning everything up now. As soon as they move her into recovery you can come in and see the baby."

Carlisle gripped his son's shoulder, holding him at arm's length. "Congratulations, Edward. I couldn't be happier for you."

"Just wait till you hear what we named him."

Edward smirked as Carlisle gave him an aggravated look. He started to say something, but the elevator dinged and Esme and Marcus stepped off. They both looked sleepy and travel-rumpled, and yet they still managed to give the impression of poised sophistication.

"My baby!" Esme gushed, clacking over to us in her designer heels and taking Edward's face in her hands. "Has my grandson come yet?"

"Just barely. You're timing is incredible."

"How big is he? How much does he weigh? What's his APGAR score?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't know. He's like this big." He cupped his hands and held them close together.

"How can you not know? You're his father! It's your job to know!"

"Whatever. It's my job as a father to pass out cigars and stand around looking smug."

"So where's my cigar?" Marcus asked, giving Edward a clap on the back.

He glowered at the floor. "Tanya took them away from me."

From the look on Esme's face, I expected smoke to start pouring out her ears. "Edward Anthony, you march yourself right back into that hospital room and find out how much my grandson weighs, or so help me—"

"Okay, I'm going!" He scowled at Carlisle as he turned to leave. "You _had_ to book her a car, didn't you?"

Carlisle just chuckled at his son's petulance.

"How are you, darling?" Esme asked, turning her attention to Carlisle as soon as Edward was out of sight. She smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt and tried to pat his finger-tousled hair into place.

"I'm . . . okay," he said hesitantly. "But then, all I've really had to do is sit here, with a safe distance between me and . . ." He trailed off, glancing toward the hallway where Edward had disappeared.

Esme sighed in exasperation. "Some things never change."

I grinned as Esme fussed over my husband and turned to greet hers with a kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you again, Marcus."

"You, too." He gave me a quick squeeze.

I had seen Marcus a handful of times over the last few years, and I had always been impressed with him. He took Esme's affection for Carlisle in stride, never showing even a glimmer of insecurity over it. He was confident in his relationship and comfortable with the peculiarities that came with it, and I tried to take everything as coolly as he did.

That was difficult to do, though, when Esme was wiping her lipstick off of my husband's mouth.

"You look nearly as exhausted as I feel," Marcus said, drawing my attention back to him. "Have you been here all night?"

"Yeah. Poor Tanya. I imagine this was a pretty miserable night for her."

"Thank god we'll never have to do it, huh?" He winked at me.

"No kidding."

We moved into the waiting room and Carlisle engaged Marcus in conversation about his business while Esme quizzed me to find out how Carlisle was _really_ doing.

"He really is okay," I assured her. "This is hard for him, but since when has he ever shied away from doing the hard thing?"

"And Edward is behaving himself? He's not being too obnoxious?"

I rolled my eyes. "Edward is Edward. There's no fixing him."

"What is he doing?"

"It's this name thing," I said, shaking my head. "I think he really wants to name the baby after Carlisle, but Carlisle is dead-set against it."

Esme laughed. "Oh, believe me, I know he is. I wanted to name Edward after him, too, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"I don't get it. Why does it bother him so much?"

She patted my hand. "Carlisle has never used his name when he could avoid it. As a child his friends called him by a nickname, and as an adult he has mostly gone by his last name."

"I figured that was an intimacy thing. Like, a way of keeping people at a distance."

"It is, in a way, but there's more to it." She glanced at him, smiling sadly. "He believes that his parents gave him the first name they came across after he was born. To him, it's one more reminder that he was unwanted."

I scowled, appalled once again at the damage that had been done to my husband by the people who should have taken care of him. "It would be different now, though. If Edward used his name, it would be to honor him."

"I know that," Esme said, "and you know that, but Carlisle is a stubborn man. Once he gets a notion into his head, it's nearly impossible to get it out."

Carlisle must have overheard her, because he looked up with a smirk.

"Talking about me, are you?"

"Of course we are, darling," Esme answered. "We're both obsessed with you."

Carlisle held out his hand to me, and I stood and let him pull me into his lap.

"I'm sorry I'm making this hard on you, sweetheart. I know you're excited, and I'm probably ruining it for you."

"Oh, stop, you're not ruining anything."

I lay on his shoulder and listened idly while the others chatted, just enjoying the feeling of being close to Carlisle. Marcus and Esme were good distractions for him, and I could feel some of the tension easing from his muscles.

The waiting had to end sometime, and eventually Edward reappeared and invited us all to come back to Tanya's room. She was lying in bed looking utterly exhausted when we walked in, but she managed a weak smile. Carlisle moved to her bedside and took her hand between his.

"How are you feeling?"

She gave him a tired laugh. "Like someone took a baseball bat to my lady parts."

He chuckled and brought her hands to his lips.

"Thanks for the roses, by the way."

"Hey!" Edward said. "_I_ got you those roses."

"Sure, honey." Tanya winked at Carlisle. "If you guys will wash your hands you can see the baby. He's in the cradle, but he's not sleeping."

Esme was the first to the sink, scrubbing her hands thoroughly before moving back to the raised plastic crib that the hospital had provided.

"Look at how precious he is!" she gushed, lifting out the bundle of blankets. One tiny hand had escaped the swaddling, and it waved in jerky movements, the tiny fist opening and closing. "He looks just like Edward did. Just look at that little pout!"

Marcus dried his hands and offered his finger to the baby, who gripped it and tugged it down to his mouth.

"He's just precious, Edward," Esme said. "You'll be lucky if I don't try to run off with him."

"I already warned hospital security about you." He bumped Carlisle out of the way and took his place next to Tanya. "Pop, go wash up. You're going to hold him, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure your mother will let him go," he said with a grimace. His excuse didn't fool anyone, though, and Edward arched an eyebrow.

Carlisle turned to the sink and scrubbed his hands, but I could see the stubborn set of his jaw. He was going to make this a thing.

There's something inherently fascinating about a baby. The wondering eyes, the tiny fingers with their miniature fingernails, the halted breathing and the occasional fussy squawk . . . everything about the boy held our rapt attention while Edward, who had dutifully educated himself, announced his weight, his length, and his APGAR score. Even Carlisle eventually gave in and joined the group, gazing down at the boy, but being careful not to touch him.

I was swaying with the baby in my arms, cooing to him about how beautiful he was, when Esme finally answered the question that Edward and Tanya had obviously been waiting for.

"What did you decide to name him?"

The proud parents beamed at each other.

"You know we wanted to name him after his grandfathers," Tanya said.

I felt Carlisle tense up beside me.

"And we argued for months about which name should go where. But we finally settled on Marcus Eleazar."

Carlisle let out a quiet breath of relief, but I thought I caught just a hint of sadness in his smile.

"That's a wonderful name," he murmured quietly, looking down at the baby again.

"I thought so," Edward answered, grinning broadly. "Marcus Eleazar Cullen."

Carlisle's head snapped up and he stared at his son.

Edward gave a one-shouldered shrug, looking sheepish. "Three grandpas, three names. It seemed like the obvious choice."

"Edward. . . ." Carlisle stuttered, thrown by the announcement. "It can be awfully inconvenient having a different last name as your child. Are you sure you want to do that?"

He exchanged glances with Tanya, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Actually, Tanya and I are changing our names, too."

We both gaped at him.

"What about your mother's name?" Carlisle asked.

"I haven't used Platt since I married Marcus," Esme said, dismissing his concern with a wave of her hand. "I wanted Edward to be a Cullen all along, but you were too stubborn about it."

"There's a reason for that!"

Edward stood and moved around the bed to stand beside his father, gripping his shoulder.

"Look, Pop, I know you didn't come from the best family. But this isn't about your parents' legacy, it's about _yours._ You did everything you could to make sure I got a fair shot. I recognize the value in that, and I think it deserves to be honored."

Carlisle covered his son's hand with his own. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"Yeah." Edward gave a lopsided smile to the baby in my arms. "I get that."

Carlisle stepped back and cleared his throat. "I, uh . . . I think I need some more coffee." And without another word he turned and disappeared out the door.

"Just give him a minute," I said to Edward when he started after his father. "He'll come back after he's processed things a little."

But he didn't. We spent about twenty more minutes fussing over the baby until a nurse came in to take him back to the nursery and allow Tanya to get some rest. Edward offered to give Marcus and Esme a ride back to his house, then we all said goodbye to Tanya and filed out of the room.

"Hey." Edward grabbed my hand, looking anxious.

"I'll track him down," I promised before he could ask me to.

"You'll call me if you need help?"

"Naturally."

He pulled me in for a quick hug and dropped a kiss on my forehead. "Let me know how it goes."

It took me a while to find Carlisle. He wasn't in the cafeteria nursing a cup of coffee, and he wasn't in the parking lot bumming a cigarette from other stressed-out hospital visitors. His car was still there, though, so I made my way back to the maternity ward and started walking the halls, peeking down corridors, searching out quiet nooks where he might have taken refuge. I was about to try calling his cell phone when I turned a corner and spotted him standing in front of the large window that looked in on the nursery. He had his forearm braced against the window frame and was staring inside at the handful of occupied cradles.

So he was still working through his issues.

I moved down the hall and took his free hand in mine, turning to watch an aging nurse as she moved through the room. She checked on sleeping infants, calmed them if they fussed, and occasionally jotted notes on a clipboard. In a tiny crib marked "Cullen," one tiny hand could be seen batting against the plastic siding, fingers spread wide.

"I gave this up," Carlisle said softly.

I turned to look at him, but he continued to gaze into the nursery.

"I can't begin to tell you how badly I wanted this. But I gave it up to protect Edward and Esme."

His face crumpled in pain. "I knew it would hurt him. A boy needs his father, and I abandoned him. There was no right choice with Edward, only the least wrong." He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the tiny crib beyond the glass. "But this boy will have what I didn't have . . . what I couldn't give my son. He'll have a father who loves him, who knows how to raise him. He'll have a proper family."

"Thanks to you."

He turned to look at me then, his expression blank.

"You're right, you chose the least-wrong option with Edward. You left him, but you broke the cycle of abuse. It's because of what you did that little Marcus Cullen is getting such an ideal start."

He shook his head and pulled me against him. "I don't understand him," he said softly. "Or you either, for that matter. Why anyone would want to take my name. . . ."

"We love you. You're just going to have to learn to deal with it."

The nurse glanced up and saw us, and moved to the open doorway.

"One of these must be yours," she said with a smile.

Carlisle nodded toward the cradle he had been watching. "Cullen. He's my grandson."

"Would you like to come inside and hold him for a while?"

"Oh . . . no." Carlisle shook his head and fell back a step. "I wouldn't want to disturb him."

"Don't be silly. It's good for them to be held. When they're this little, that's the only way to show them that they're loved."

She was already heading back inside the room, and it seemed rude not to follow. I tucked my hand in the crook of Carlisle's elbow and pulled him into the nursery, where the nurse was gesturing to a sink near the door.

"Just get those hands nice and clean. They're mighty sensitive to germs in the first weeks."

Carlisle and I dutifully washed our hands, and I smiled at the expression on his face. He was feeling overwhelmed, I could tell, but he was going to do it.

The nurse chattered on, taking no notice of his hesitance. "I just love working with the newborns. They're so precious. Is this your first grandchild?"

"He is, yes."

"Well, don't you worry, it's much easier this time around. When he cries, you just pass him back to his parents and let them do the feeding and changing."

She chuckled at her own joke as Carlisle dried his hands and moved to the cradle. He gazed down at the wide-eyed baby for a moment, and then offered his finger, letting the little boy grip it.

The nurse consulted the clipboard at the end of the crib. "Are you Edward's daddy or Tanya's?"

"Edward's." Carlisle spared her a quick glance before his gaze returned to the baby.

"He seems like a nice boy. I talked to him for a few minutes, earlier. Awfully excited about being a new daddy, that one."

"That's Edward," I put in, moving to stand beside Carlisle. "He's pretty much in a constant state of excitement."

"That's all right in my book. There are worse things a man can have than enthusiasm, that's for sure. And what about you? Are you an auntie?"

I shook my head, bracing myself for her reaction. "Nope. I'm Grandma."

"Huh! You're the youngest granny I've ever seen, that's for sure. I wish I'd been as young as you when my babies started having babies. Would've been easier to get down on the floor and play."

I instantly warmed to her.

She hung the clipboard back on the end of the crib, and the sound of it clapping against the plastic seemed to startle Marcus. He gave a little jerk and his face screwed up in distress, a little squawk escaping his throat.

"Well, go ahead, Grandpa." The nurse was moving off to tend to another fussing baby, but she waved a hand at Carlisle. "He just needs a little cuddling, is all. Show him that he's safe."

Carlisle had a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, but he reached down into the crib and lifted the baby out. Marcus seemed even smaller than he had before, his little body barely enough to fill his grandfather's large hands. Carlisle drew him to his chest, ducking his head to whisper soothing words as he cradled him.

Marcus settled down quickly. Two tiny fingers found their way to his mouth and he sucked them eagerly as he snuggled closer to Carlisle.

"My god," Carlisle whispered, the sound so soft it barely carried to my ears. He stroked the pale, downy hair on Marcus's head and then kissed his forehead lightly. "My god."

The nurse continued to prattle away, oblivious to Carlisle's wonder.

"He might go to sleep if you rock him a little. Doesn't like to close his eyes, that one. He's too busy trying to see everything there is to see."

I followed after Carlisle as he moved to the plush rocking chair in the corner of the room and lowered himself into it. Marcus cried in protest at the slight jostling, but he soon found his fingers again and began sucking them in earnest.

The sight of Carlisle with a tiny infant tucked against his broad chest did odd things to my insides. I smiled down at the two of them, blinking away the mistiness in my eyes brought on by my sudden wave of sentimentality.

"You wear that look pretty well, Carlisle Cullen."

He gave me a smile—a genuine one that actually reached his eyes.

"Hold that pose. Edward has to see this." I whipped out my phone and framed the two of them in the shot as Carlisle chuckled and dropped his gaze. I snapped the photo as he was pressing a kiss to the top of Marcus's head, while Marcus's eyes drooped closed.

And damn it, that was making me all sentimental again. I sent the shot off to Edward so he would know that Carlisle was coming around, and then tucked my phone back in my pocket.

Carlisle shifted Marcus to one side and extended a hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me down onto his lap, wrapping an arm around me and rocking the chair back and forth.

"I never imagined I could have this," he murmured. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for what you've done for me, Bella."

"You can show me later. Like tomorrow, after we've managed to get in a few hours of sleep."

He chuckled and held me close while I rested my head on his shoulder. The gentle rocking was having the same effect on me as it was on Marcus, and the two of us sighed contentedly and relaxed against Carlisle's body.

It was several long minutes before he patted my hip, rousing me out of a light doze and urging me to stand. I did so reluctantly, allowing Carlisle to climb to his feet as well. He carried Marcus, now in a deep sleep, back to his crib and eased him down into it. He watched tentatively while the boy fussed for a moment, before drifting off to sleep again.

The nurse, who was still bustling around the room performing her tasks, gave him a smile.

"It's always nice to see folks like you in here," she said. "Not all of these little ones go to homes where they're wanted, so it's comforting to know when they do. He's a lucky boy to be so well cared for."

Carlisle swallowed hard and nodded in response.

I moved to his side and slid my hand into his. "Are you ready to go?"

He nodded again, but didn't move, his eyes still fixed on the sleeping baby.

I laughed. "Tell you what? Why don't I go get the car warmed up? You can come down and meet me whenever you're ready."

He gave me a grateful smile and pulled me close for a kiss before releasing my hand. I left him and headed toward the hall, but I stopped in the doorway and turned back to him, taking in the image of him gazing down into the little crib.

I marveled at how different he was from the man I had eaten ice cream with in the park so long ago. He had been comfortable in his solitude then, cool and distant, with an aura of sadness clinging to him even as he flashed his winning smile.

Now, though, the sadness was gone, and when he smiled, he meant it. He was more genuine, more forthcoming, and had allowed himself to develop intimate relationships with a select group of people.

The change showed on his face. His entire demeanor had changed, and looking at him now, he seemed content. Complete.

Redeemed.


	28. Outtake: Two Masters

**This outtake was written for Caressa28, who has been making donations to the Muscular Dystrophy Association for each Original Sin chapter posted. I'm immensely grateful for her generosity, so I offered her the outtake of her choice as a thank-you. Caressa said she had been feeling some heat between Carlisle and Dr. Berty, so that's what she chose. I never envisioned this for Carlisle, but when I think about it, it makes a lot of sense.**

**Carlisle and his friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**

**Outtake: Two Masters**

I trudged into my office without turning on the light and sank down into my desk chair, dropping my head into my hands. The debilitating headache from this morning had receded into a dull pulsing pain at the back of my skull, but the fatigue had only gotten worse. I was exhausted. I opened my desk drawer and fished out a bottle of water, cracking it open and bringing the lukewarm liquid to my lips. I gulped it down, trying to wash away the cottony feeling that I never could seem to shake the day after.

I capped the bottle and threw it back into the drawer, refusing to let my mind go where it was trying to go. Instead I internally castigated myself. I'd had too much to drink.

Again.

I knew better than to hit the bottle the way I had the night before and most of the time I didn't have a problem keeping myself in check. But on the eleventh of June. . . .

Well.

I had a history of weakness on the eleventh of June.

I took off my watch and dropped it onto the desktop, exposing the mark that I rarely uncovered outside the privacy of my home. The tattoo, just a few black characters etched into the pale flesh of my wrist, was the most important part of me. It was a reminder of what I had done, an inadequate penance for the damage I had inflicted on the person—on the _people_—I loved most. It was a warning that I could never let my guard down against the demon inside of me. It was an ever-present souvenir of what my failure had cost me.

My Esme.

My son.

I ran a finger over the inked scars on the delicate skin. I had often thought that I should have made it bigger—only because it would have caused me more pain, though, and not because I wanted people to see it. This tattoo was not my scarlet letter. It was not to be worn for my public shame, though I certainly deserved it. It wasn't meant to draw the attention of others, but my own attention. It had been suggested, when I went to get it, that a tattoo over my chest or on my back might feel more meaningful, but it would be too easy to ignore in those places. I wanted it where I had to look at it every day. I wanted to remember. Because even as it tore me apart to think of that day, it was a reminder that I had once cared about someone more than myself. However briefly, I had lifted myself beyond what I was bred to be, and I had discovered what it truly meant to love.

So it was selfishness, too, this brand on my arm. I didn't seem to be able to escape my selfishness.

The office door swung open, and my TA strolled in, heading for his desk.

"Hey, Dr. C," he said. "What—"

"Go home, Riley," I said softly.

He paused, giving me a curious look. "Are you okay?"

"Take the day off," I said, not bothering to answer his question.

He didn't leave. I wished he would. I found that my relationships with my TAs were the hardest to balance. I was more familiar with them than with anyone else, and they came to see themselves as my friends.

I couldn't have friends.

"You don't look so good, Doc."

I shook my head. "I'm not feeling well. I'll be taking the rest of the day off as well."

He looked bewildered. He had been working for me for nearly two years, and I had never yet offered him a day off. He finally nodded reluctantly, though, and turned toward the door. "You need anything before I go?"

"No, thank you." I rubbed my forehead gingerly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

After one more concerned look in my direction, Riley let himself back out of my office, pulling the door closed behind him.

I sighed heavily and slumped down on the desk, letting my head rest on the cool surface. It was too empty. I had over-prepared for yesterday, for the crippling pain it brought, and I had finished all of my outstanding work. It had seemed like a good idea then, but now I was left with no distractions.

All I could do was remember. Remember the way it felt when my fist collided with her flesh, the way it sounded when she cried and begged me to stop, the way fear replaced the love in her eyes.

I shuddered. "Never again," I whispered to myself, reconfirming the commitment I had made that day. I would never put myself in a position where I might lose control and hurt someone else. Which meant I would be alone, always. It was a severe penance, one that weighed heavily on me and darkened every day of my life, and yet it was necessary. Esme was the last woman I had touched out of affection, and look what I had done to her?

It was unforgivable.

I sat back with a tired grunt and reached into the briefcase that rested on the floor by my feet. I drew out a letter, only a week old, but already worn at the creases from the constant folding and unfolding. I didn't read it this time, though. I practically had it memorized. Esme was more forgiving than she should be, and much of the letter urged me to let go of the guilt that I carried for what I had done.

She didn't understand. The guilt was the only thing that kept me from doing it again.

But this time it wasn't the letter I was after, it was the picture enclosed within it. I slid the photograph from the folds, smiling automatically in response to the cheeky grin on the face of the young boy in the Little League uniform.

Edward. My son.

He would turn ten in a few days. Ten years old, and already a better man than I. Esme said that he seemed to have the Midas touch, that he excelled at everything he tried. And apparently, he wanted to try_everything_. Ten years old, and he was already collecting accolades for his intelligence, his athleticism, his musical talent, and his humanitarianism.

That last one had surprised me. A few months previous, my son had taken up a collection for a friend in his school class who had contracted Leukemia. Edward had canvassed neighborhoods with his mother to raise money for medical treatments, and a handful of local business owners had been so impressed with him that they had taken it upon themselves to sponsor the family throughout the treatment process.

My son was a hero.

At ten years old I had been a veteran drug-runner and was headed toward court-ordered counseling for my violent tendencies.

I sighed. It was proof that my son was better off without me. Under my influence, the boy would become like me: angry, bitter, volatile. But in his mother's care he thrived.

I tucked the picture away again, resolving to make a particularly special frame for this one. He deserved it, after all he had accomplished. He deserved a lot more than that, really, more than I could ever give him. I had added an extra thousand to his mother's check this month, and I hoped Esme would do something to make his birthday memorable this year.

I wanted another drink.

I felt a deep compulsion to moved, to act, to pace my office. I wanted to tear something apart, to destroy things, to hurt people, to make everyone and everything around me as broken as I was.

But that wasn't something I did anymore. Now I sat, still and quiet, visualizing something tranquil, suppressing the part of me that I hated, the part that poisoned everything I touched. Self mastery. That was what it was all about. Twenty-one years of therapy could all be condensed down to this one concept. I didn't have to act on the violent emotions that I always carried with me. Outwardly, I could appear calm and serene, always.

Just a scholar. Just an anthropologist. Not a rat from the slums who could melt into the shadows and lie his way out of any situation. Not the kid who had learned not to cry when the beatings started, because experience had taught him that crying only made them worse.

It was good that I was so adept at hiding how I felt, really. Otherwise how could I convince everyone that I was nothing but a harmless college professor? The trick, of course, was to be likable enough not to seem suspicious, but distant enough to keep people from trying to peek behind the façade.

I sat in silence for a long time, covering up the ugliness inside of me with layer after layer of respectability. I lost track of the clock, of the seconds and minutes ticking by, until a sharp rap on my office door brought me back to my surroundings.

I looked up as the door swung open and Dr. Berty poked his head into the room. His eyes flicked to the unlit fluorescents above my head, and a knowing smile graced his lips.

"Cullen!" he said brightly. "How are you?"

I didn't glare at him. The man was insufferable, but it was unacceptable for me to show frustration with anyone. Negative emotions were unsafe.

"I'm fine, and yourself?"

"Slightly less hung over than you are."

My eyebrows shot up before I could remind myself not to react. I didn't like that he had seen my weakness, and I didn't like being taken by surprise. It took a little extra effort to force back the irritation and affix a genial smile on my face.

"That's good to hear. It sounds like your day was far more pleasant than mine."

Berty stepped into my office and closed the door behind him, striding over to perch on the edge of the desk. It annoyed me. I didn't have to worry about him disturbing the piles of documents that I usually had carefully arranged around the desk, but I still didn't like him in my space.

I kept my expression easy, even friendly. Just a scholar. Just an anthropologist.

"So what is it?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"This anniversary of yours. Are you marking a divorce? The death of a family member?"

I caught myself grinding my teeth and stopped. "What makes you think I'm marking an event?"

He smirked. "We've been working together for years, Cullen. You never miss a class and never take a day off, except once every summer. Then you disappear without explanation and show up the next day, unshaven and smelling of liquor."

I rubbed a hand distractedly over the light stubble on my jaw. It didn't show much, on the rare occasions that I didn't shave in the morning, but apparently Berty was watching me more closely than I had realized. It made me uncomfortable.

"So I checked up," Berty continued. "Same day, every year. Except last year. But then, June eleventh was on a Saturday last year, wasn't it? And this year, no need to take Sunday off, but here you are, hung over."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your sharp observational skills."

"If you must," Berty chuckled, "though I have far more interesting skills you could appreciate."

"Can I help you with something?" I asked abruptly, letting my mask slip slightly. I wanted him to get to the point and leave me alone. I had no patience for him today.

"No, but I thought you might let me help you. It seems you have something you may need to talk about."

I snorted quietly. "Thank you, but I'm just fine."

"There's nothing wrong with it, you know," Berty said as though I hadn't spoken. "We all mark anniversaries of unpleasant events. I just racked up another one, as a matter of fact. My second divorce went through three weeks ago."

Outwardly, I showed no reaction. Inwardly, though, I burned. I hated him. I hated his careless dismissal of his marriage. To have something so precious, so completely unattainable for some of us . . . and then to throw it away with such callousness.

I hated him.

I found myself lashing out, and the best I could do was soften my harsh words with a laugh. "Do you think that might have something to do with the fact that you spent more nights with your students than with your wife?"

Berty grumbled something about antiquated expectations of marriage that I chose to ignore. I had already gotten too emotionally involved, and I worked to affix the blank mask back in place. There was something about Berty that got under my skin every time, and it always took extra effort to stay cool and removed when he was around.

He stood and moved behind my desk, running his fingers over the spines of the books on the high shelf. I had to fight back another flash of irritation when he pulled out the first one I had published. It had been a desperate attempt to make a little extra money for Esme and Edward, and I had been unprepared for the intensity of the response. It had been wildly successful, and had left the publishers begging for more. I gave them more. I had published a second book by the time I earned my doctorate in anthropology, and now they were asking for a third with an archeological tie-in. So in addition to teaching I had started studying archeology, and I was on the path to a second doctorate.

The accolades fell on deaf ears, but the money . . . that was welcome. I was providing for my family now, even if I couldn't be with them. My son would never have the life I'd had. He wouldn't have to hide out behind restaurants and bakeries, waiting for the day's waste to be tossed out in order to eat. That first book had bought him a better life, and it infuriated me to see it in the hands of a man who so casually tossed his family aside.

Berty caught me off guard with his next words. "I can see it, you know. What other people don't see. Maybe it's because of my extensive study of language that I'm able to pick up on your little tells, or maybe it's just because I'm the only one paying attention."

My defenses were up now, and I stared at him silently, calm but stiff, ready to fight. "And what is it that you think you see?"

"Guilt." He replaced the book on the shelf before turning to look at me. "You stink of it. Just like the alcohol, only it's worse because it's every day."

I didn't have an answer for that. He was becoming a problem—a big one—and my hands itched to take care of it. Berty would go down easy. He was soft. Aging, gray at the temples, a hint of a paunch forming around his middle. He would be no trouble at all.

But that wasn't what I did anymore.

"There's no shame in it," Berty continued when I didn't respond. "Our society thrives on guilt. Every day, the masses fail to live up to the expectations set for them by their various masters, and they always resolve to try harder the following day. You've merely gotten caught up with the crowd."

He was being deliberately condescending now, and somehow that bothered me less. As did his message. If only he knew what it would mean to me to be normal, to count myself among the masses that he disdained.

When he failed once again to elicit a response, he shrugged and turned away. "Perhaps that's how you prefer it," he said, moving toward the door. "Far be it from me to remove you from your comfortable little bubble."

I wasn't sure what made me speak then. He was leaving, just like I wanted him to. He pulled open the door and was stepping out of it when I stopped him.

"You're almost right."

He turned back to me with raised eyebrows.

"It's not someone else's expectations I'm failing to live up to. It's my own."

He smiled smugly, and I immediately berated myself for inviting his judgment. I really should have let him leave.

"Maybe you need to change your expectations, Cullen. It's much easier than shouldering the burden of self-loathing."

I just shook my head. I had been down that road, had lived the life my father had led me into and had refused to take responsibility for myself. It was hell.

"You're Catholic, aren't you?"

I nodded, because that was the closest to the truth that I could get without an exhaustive theological discussion. I did feel at home in a cathedral. My mind traveled briefly to the foster home where I had spent my teenage years, to the austere parents who had demanded that I grow into something better than I was, and who emphasized accountability so heavily. I remembered Sunday Mass, the one time a week when all I had to do to earn their approval was to wear the clothes they deemed appropriate and sit quietly. I remembered the hope in the words of the priest, the promises of forgiveness, of redemption.

Of course, I was beyond that now. But it was still nice to think about.

Berty was waxing eloquent about the classic Catholic guilt, but I was ignoring his tirade. His moral compass might be slightly skewed, but even he wouldn't offer absolution if he knew what I had done. Philosophy came so easily to the academic crowd, the middle and upper classes, the ones who never saw the way a person could be poisoned by his environment.

The way he could then carry that poison to others and taint them with it as well.

When Berty's lecture left me unmoved, he started to get frustrated. He sat on my desk again, this time beside me instead of across from me, and he looked down at me with speculative eyes.

"What is it you want?" he asked abruptly.

"I have what I want."

He crossed his arms over his chest, smiling knowingly. "If you had what you wanted, you wouldn't be so sullen. Try again. If there were no limitations, if you could have whatever you wanted, _do_ whatever you wanted, what would it be?"

On the surface, the answer to his question was simple. I would turn back time, go back to June 11, 1990, and relive it. I wouldn't hurt Esme. I would treat her the way she deserved, _love_ her the way she deserved, and I wouldn't lose her.

But I knew that the problem ran much deeper than the actions of one day. I was the proverbial ticking time bomb, constantly on the verge of exploding. Had I not hurt Esme that day, I would have done it another day, and maybe Edward, too. At least the way things were, my son hadn't been harmed. He was growing up healthy and happy, without me there to tear him down. If I hadn't left when I did, there was no telling what kind of damage I could have inflicted.

No, the root of the problem was much further back, not prior to my son's birth, but prior to my own. Had I been born to different parents, had I not been steeped in violence and hatred as a child, maybe I could have the things I wanted so badly now.

"It's quite simple," I murmured, not meeting Berty's eyes. "I want to be someone I'm not."

He lowered his head, keeping his pointed gaze on me. "The solution is just as simple, you know. Stop wanting. Be satisfied with the man that you are."

I just shook my head. That I would not do. I was better than that, at the very least.

I waited for him to lecture me some more, to tell me that all choices were valid and that actions demanded no consequences. But he didn't. Instead he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against mine.

For a moment I was too stunned to react. I felt his fingers brush the side of my neck and slide back into my hair. His lips parted and his tongue flicked out, and suddenly panic welled up inside of me. I jolted away from him, knocking my chair over as I staggered to my feet. I backed away, my senses on high alert, my chest heaving as I stared at him.

I felt trapped, which was ridiculous. If I could convince myself to tear my eyes away from Berty, I could move around the desk and then keep going, right out of my office, out of the school, far away from here. But I couldn't, and I felt like a cornered animal—wild, dangerous, and . . . hungry.

Yes, there was definitely hunger. It had been ten years since I'd packed my things and kissed Esme goodbye, ten years to the day since I had felt another person's lips on mine. For those ten years I had largely ignored the desire for human contact, but Berty's touch had brought it to the forefront of my mind and suddenly the longing for it was so sharp that it threatened to overwhelm me.

Which was insane. What use did I have for another man, particularly _this_ man? A man whose arrogance made him all but a pariah among our colleagues. A man who cheated on his wives and slept with his students. A man who was nearly as poisonous as I was.

While I was still trying to sort out what was going on, Berty moved forward again, taking my wrists in his hands and pushing them down to my sides. He released them and raised his hands to the side of my head, holding me in place while he kissed me again.

I jerked out of his grasp and grabbed his lapels, shoving him up against the wall, feeling the heat from his body radiating off of him in the chill of the air conditioned room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hissed.

He simply smiled. "I'm doing exactly what you want me to do."

I shoved away from him, suddenly feeling dirty. "If that's what you think I want, you've badly misread me."

"No I haven't." He still wore his smug smile, convinced he was right in his assessment. Berty was never one to admit that he was wrong about anything.

I turned away from him, forcing myself to overcome the compulsion to keep him in front of me, in my line of sight. "You should leave."

"You don't want me to leave."

I felt his hands on me again, sliding up my back to my shoulders, and I bit back a groan. I didn't want this. There was a part of me that wanted to put as much distance as possible between myself and the predator behind me. But there was also the part of me that reacted to his caress, the lonely, neglected part that appreciated the goose bumps skittering down my arms and refused to let me break away. His hands massaged the stiff muscles in my shoulders and neck, and I stood still, not wanting to accept his attentions, but somehow unable to break away.

"Human beings need to be touched," Berty murmured in my ear, stretching up on his toes and pressing against my back to compensate for his slight height disadvantage. "Its absence incites anxiety and cynicism, raises our blood pressure, makes us suspicious of the people around us."

His lips fluttered against my skin behind my ear, sending a tremor running through my body. It was part disgust, but I had to admit that it was mostly pleasure. I wanted badly to surrender to it, to allow myself a moment of weakness and accept what he was offering.

"How long has it been?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.

My first impulse was to refuse to answer. His question was far more invasive than his touch, more personal, more unwelcome. But keeping my silence was exhausting, and his touch was weakening me. I swallowed hard and my voice shook as I mumbled, "Ten years."

"Too long," he whispered. He kissed behind my ear again and then slowly moved around to stand in front of me, dragging one hand along my shoulder, refusing to break contact. "Invite me home with you, Cullen."

I stiffened. The idea of him walking into my house and seeing the photographs of Esme and Edward, of him examining or touching the mementos that Esme sent me . . . it sickened me.

"No."

He gave a low laugh and laced his fingers through my hair, stepping close again. "The charade is getting old. Just say yes."

"Why my place?" I bit out. "Why not yours?"

He arched an eyebrow, that damnable smile playing on his lips again. "Because there's a girl waiting for me at my place."

His meaning was clear. This was nothing to him. It was merely one of his indiscretions, a way for him to flex his muscles against the bonds of conformity. There would be no connection, no intimacy . . . he hadn't even called me by my first name. To be honest, I wasn't sure he knew what it was.

At the moment, I couldn't recall his.

This, I realized, made me far more comfortable. No attachments, no expectations, just a brief indulgence in the pleasures that I had been denying myself for so long. Giving myself permission only fanned the flame of passion, and I grabbed Berty by the lapels and shoved him against the wall again, this time following it through with a hard, demanding kiss.

"There's no way in hell I'm inviting you into my house," I growled, before taking his mouth again, pinning him to the wall with my body.

It felt so right—not Berty, but the roughness of it, the domination. It fit me like a second skin, sliding over me, welcoming me home. When his hand pulled at my hair, when his fingers dug into my skin, it all felt so familiar, so warm where the rest of my life was cold and dark. I pulled him forward and slammed him against the wall again, relishing the power, the violence of it.

And then the backlash came. The part of me that struggled against the demon, the part that was appalled by my need to dominate, reared its head. Revulsion welled up inside of me, not because of the power of my physical response, but because of what had elicited this reaction. Berty's touch had drawn out the dormant desires, but it was my own rough handling of him that left me hard and aching, grinding against his body.

I wanted to hurt him, wanted to demand his submission, and it disgusted me.

I shoved away from him and turned back to my desk, leaning on the surface for support as my shoulders heaved with the exertion of restraint. This was wrong. It was everything I didn't want.

"This is a bad idea," I said flatly.

Berty's voice was as tangible a caress as his touch. "Stop fighting it, Cullen," he said, clearly undisturbed by my behavior, and I had to wonder about a man who invited the kind of brutality that my actions promised.

"You don't know what you're asking."

"Oh, no?" His hands were on me again, rubbing my shoulders, stimulating the neglected nerves. "You think I've never seen what bottled-up desires can do to a person? You think I haven't experienced the aftermath of setting them free?"

"It's not the same for me."

"And what makes you so special? Hm? What lifts you so high above the rest of us that you can escape the biological compulsions that drive us all? Or are you under the impression that your preference for men is somehow outside the sphere of biology?"

I let out a low laugh, looking back at him over my shoulder. "You think it's a preference for men that I'm trying to escape?"

"Isn't it?" he asked confidently. "You're a classic case. A guilt-ridden Catholic man refusing to give in to your baser impulses, preferring celibacy to the distasteful alternative."

I straightened and turned to him again, backing him against the wall and running my hands up and down the sides of his neck. The rough growth of stubble scratched at the calluses on my fingers. I leaned closed and kissed Berty gently, not to show affection but to command his attention.

"Man or woman," I whispered, "everyone bruises the same."

Berty smirked at me. "There's nothing wrong with getting a little rough."

"You don't think so?" I pulled back and punched him across the face, and my cock throbbed with pleasure as I watched him stagger. His hand clapped over his jaw, and he turned shocked eyes on me.

"Make no mistake," I growled, shoving him against the wall again and pressing my body to his. "I'm not playing games with you. The man you see in front of you is disturbingly real."

"Good." His smile returned, but harder this time. He shoved me back, pushing me away from the wall and down onto the surface of the desk. He held me down, maneuvering himself between my legs, and roughly yanked the tie from around my neck. He tossed it aside and started unbuttoning my shirt, his mouth coming down to taste my skin as he uncovered it.

I didn't resist. I let my head fall back on the desk and focused on the feeling of his lips, his hands, his weight pressing me down on the solid surface. The man had to be out of his mind to be pushing so hard for this, but if he wanted it that badly, maybe it wasn't worth it to fight with him. I moaned and arched against him as he finished unbuttoning my shirt and let his hand wander down to cover my aching erection.

I let my eyes drift closed as he palmed me over my clothes, releasing my inhibitions and surrendering to the pleasure of it. Maybe it made me weak, but where was the harm, really? He clearly wanted this, and I wasn't hurting anyone.

Not very badly, anyway, though I recognized that I probably shouldn't hit him again.

I ran a hand over my eyes, trying not to imagine what Esme would think of me . . . what my son would think of me. I should be better than this for him. I should be a role model, a man that he could look up to. But I had missed my chance at that a long time ago, and there wasn't anything I could do to change that, so what did it matter?

Berty drew his hand back, and I opened my eyes in time to see him reach into his breast pocket and draw out several foil packets. He tossed them down on the desk beside me and I turned my head to examine them. A condom and several packets of lubricant.

He had come prepared.

He was unbuckling my belt when the implications settled on me. Berty and me, here in my office. Images of myself bent over the desk flashed behind my eyes, comingling with memories of my boyhood home, my father holding me down on the kitchen table, the buckle of his belt jangling as he lashed me with the leather strap.

Fury and panic welled up inside me, and before I realized I was moving I had shoved Berty back and was on my feet again, my hand around his neck. But it wasn't enough to be out from under him, equal to him. The demon inside me demanded his submission. I tightened my grip on his throat and pushed him to his knees in front of me.

He stared up at me, his smirk gone, an intense look of desire in its place. He reached up and finished undoing my pants, carefully extracting my turgid member from the folds of my clothes. His tongue darted out and flicked the tip, licking away a smear of pre-cum, and I groaned in pleasure. His mouth closed around me, surrounding me in warmth, and his soft, wet tongue began stroking my sensitive skin.

And still it wasn't enough for me, to have him on his knees, eagerly sucking my cock. I grabbed a handful of his hair and shoved deep into his mouth, triggering his gag reflex, feeling his throat constrict around me. I hissed at the intensity of the feeling and did it again, and then again. Berty's eyes took on a slightly distressed look, which went a long way toward satisfying the darker part of myself. I gripped his head with both hands and set up a steady rhythm, fucking his mouth, dominating him.

And I hated myself. I hated this desperation I had for control, this compulsion to force others to bend to my will. I had kept it in check for ten years, but now, after just a few minutes with Berty it was back, as strong and as violent as ever. _This_ was where the harm was, I realized. Not in what I was doing to Berty, but in what I was allowing myself to be.

I would never change. I knew that. The blackness inside of me would always be there. But I knew better than to let it out this way. I released my grip and stepped back, sliding out of Berty's mouth. He looked up at me in confusion, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I can't. Not like this."

I heard him stand, could feel the heat from his body in front of me, but I couldn't open my eyes.

"There are plenty of other ways to do it," he said, his voice dark with lust. When I didn't answer he turned me around and moved me back to the desk, bending me over it and shoving my pants and boxers down around my ankles.

And I let him. Because as horrible as it was, as much as it reminded me of punishments from my father, it was better this way. It was better to grit my teeth and accept it than to become the man holding the belt.

So I didn't resist when Berty's hand splayed over my back and pinned me down on the cool, hard surface of the desk. I simply waited while he rolled on the condom and spread the cold lubricant over my entrance. My breath caught as one finger slid inside, and I tried to force myself to relax against the intrusion. Berty stilled inside me for a moment, letting the mild sting ebb away before he started slowly pumping his finger in and out of me.

I leaned heavily on my forearms and pressed my forehead into the desk, caught somewhere between horror and pleasure. It was all I could do to hold myself in this position, to keep the panic at bay and allow him free access to my body. He was progressing too slowly, and though I knew he was trying to make things easier on me, I just wanted him to _do_ it already.

He slid his finger out, spread on more lube, and then two fingers were pushing inside of me. I could feel the pain that the further stretching caused, but I didn't care. I could handle pain indefinitely. I wasn't sure, however, how long I could keep my more vicious instincts under control.

"God damn it, Berty, just fuck me," I growled.

He paused and slid his fingers out. "Suddenly eager, are we?" he chuckled. There was a brief moment where I could feel nothing, and then the thick bulk of his cock pressed against the guardian muscles and he pushed himself inside of me, sheathing himself deep in my ass.

I growled against the burning pain, my fists clenching on the desktop. Berty shifted slightly, adding pressure to my prostate, and I shuddered at the spike of pleasure that shot through me. It was a discordant duality, the pain with the pleasure, and yet I somehow felt that they belonged together.

Berty started pumping in and out of me, slow and steady, and he leaned over me, his hands braced on the desk on either side of me. "You're so fucking tight, Cullen," he breathed in my ear. "Do you know how good it feels to be buried inside you? Do you know what it feels like to have your ass squeezing my cock?"

"Harder," I hissed, pushing back against him to spur him on.

"Mm, I can tell you like it rough." He pulled nearly all the way out and slammed into me again, eliciting a tortured grunt from me.

"Yes!" I gasped. "Again, Berty. Hard!"

He obliged, gripping my shoulder with one hand to hold me in place as he pounded repeatedly into me. The pain was fierce, but the pleasure was stronger, and I cried out wordlessly, welcoming them both.

"Ungh, fuck yes, take it," Berty moaned behind me. "Take my hard cock deep in that tight ass." He reached around me with his free hand and gripped my throbbing member, pumping it in time with his wild thrusts.

My thoughts jumbled together, and I could no longer consider right or wrong, domination or submission, violence or pacifism. There was nothing but the throbbing ache, the need for release, and Berty's body driving me toward completion. I was surrounded by his heat, enveloped in the heavy musk that radiated from his skin. He drove into me from behind while he stroked me hard and fast, a choking cry escaping his throat. The feral sound pushed me over the edge and I came hard, spurting thick, white cum onto the floor beneath us. Berty followed close behind, his fingers digging into my shoulder and his hips jerking erratically as he spilled into the condom. He fell heavily on top of me, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

"So good," he whispered as he began to soften inside of me. "So good."

I wanted to shove him away, but I didn't. I felt oddly grateful to him for the whole incident, as unnerving as I had found it. He was right, it had been too long since I had touched someone. From the first touch of his lips on mine, I had been lost.

Berty grunted as he eased out of me, stripping off the condom. I pulled open a desk drawer for him and found a pack of tissues, passing it to him. I fixed my clothes as he cleaned himself up, and then snatched up my watch and fastened it back on over my tattoo.

I didn't know what to do now. What was the proper etiquette after a quick, rough fuck in your office with a co-worker you didn't particularly like?

Berty, though, wasn't at all uncomfortable. After buckling on his belt he slid a hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a deep kiss. "Don't forget what I said," he told me. "People need to be touched. Denying yourself will only make your problems worse."

I arched an eyebrow at him, but I had to admit to myself that he was right. I did need this, and not just this once. I needed to connect with people on a physical level, even if I had to remain stoic and distant on an emotional one.

I had to have more.

Not from Berty, though. He had opened the door, but any further encounters between the two of us would only complicate things. Still, maybe it wasn't impossible to find a woman who wasn't looking for a relationship. A woman who, like Berty, wanted only a quick release with no intimacy or expectations. I doubted it would be difficult.

Berty patted my cheek in that condescending way of his, and headed toward the door. "See you around, Cullen," he said, disappearing into the hall.

I stared after him for several minutes trying to collect my shattered façade and affix it firmly back in place. Once I felt like the uglier parts of myself had been adequately locked away again, I disposed of the torn foil packets and wiped up the mess on the floor. I found a bottle of Windex in a side cabinet and scrubbed the floor, and then the desktop as well, for good measure. Then I righted my chair and sank into it, leaning on the still-damp tabletop.

I needed to stop drinking. I always had too much this time of year, and it wasn't safe. I made up my mind to go home and empty the rest of the bottle of cognac down the sink. I was done with it. But there might just be another indulgence to see me through, one that I hadn't allowed myself for a full decade. Perhaps if I was very careful, if I only chose women who wouldn't challenge me and inadvertently bring out my more domineering side. . . .

It was worth trying, at any rate. Because I didn't think I had the strength to go back to being alone.


	29. Outtake: A Time to Lose

**Let me be clear. I don't take requests, and I definitely don't rewrite chapters from another character's point of view.**

**I **_**don't**_**, dammit!**

**But well, as long as I'm writing outtakes to express my gratitude to people, I should definitely send a little love in the direction of Lady Tazz. She has been a truly wonderful, supportive friend, and has featured my stories in her blog posts and on her podcast more times than they deserved. She has definitely earned a little fic-lovin', plus she went and planted the seed in my head, and then I couldn't get it out.**

**You're the devil, Tazzy. Seriously.**

**Carlisle and his friends aren't mine. I used to use Barbies to play out my little fantasies, but now I use Stephenie Meyer's characters. I truly hope she doesn't mind.**

**Outtake: A Time to Lose**

"I lied to her."

Dr. Maguire, a rather small, red-haired woman, watched me speculatively through her wire-rimmed glasses. "Does that bother you?"

I had to think about that for a minute. I usually wasn't particularly concerned about lying to people, even Bella, but obviously I was dwelling on it for a reason. "I don't know. I think . . . I think I'd have liked for her to call me on it."

"Really?" she asked curiously.

I nodded. My Bella had a habit of doing that, and I was surprisingly unruffled by it. Somehow, when she saw through me, it was less upsetting than when other people did. I liked seeing the skepticism in her eyes. I always wondered when she was going to take me to task for being dishonest with her, and when she was going to let it slide.

"She lets me lie to her more often than she should."

"What would you have done if she _had_ called you on it?"

I scratched the back of my neck, thinking it over. "I'd have told her the truth. Maybe brought her with me."

"And why do you have to wait for her to catch you in a lie to do that? Why not just invite her to come along with you to one of our sessions?"

I didn't know. It seemed like a simple concept, but I had spent so long hiding things that it seemed like a herculean task to be straightforward about them.

"Did she know you were lying?"

I frowned. "I don't think so." She hadn't gotten that look of skepticism in her eyes when I had told her I would be in the library tonight. Maybe she was preoccupied with whatever it was she had told me she wanted to discuss with me later, or maybe I had simply lied better than I had before. I hoped it was the former. I didn't particularly like the idea of getting better at lying to Bella.

"Maneuvering your girlfriend into catching you in a lie isn't something that's going to build trust between you," Dr. Maguire pointed out.

"I know. Maybe . . . maybe that's why I do it."

"You don't want her to trust you?"

I shook my head. "I don't deserve her trust. She's too willing to give it, and it makes her vulnerable. She needs to learn to protect herself."

"Like you have?"

I stared at the wall behind her. Her pointed comment had hit home. I loved Bella's openness, her sweetness. I would never want her to be like me. But I worried about her, too. She let people take advantage of her and if she didn't learn to be more careful she was going to get hurt. Badly.

By someone like me.

Dr. Maguire tapped her pen on her writing pad and changed the subject. "Do you still regret asking her to call you by your first name?"

I considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "A little bit. This has gone on longer than I expected it to."

"Wasn't it your intention to have a more committed relationship that usual when you started seeing her?"

"I . . ." I swallowed hard. "It wasn't a well thought-out decision."

"Would you change it, given the opportunity?"

I wouldn't. In fact, thinking about the evening I had held Bella in the dark beneath the kitchen table made me break out in a cold sweat. What if she hadn't kissed me? What if she hadn't talked me into this tenuous relationship of ours? The thought of losing her—of never having had her—left me trembling.

"No," I whispered.

"Yet you're uncomfortable with her using your name."

It wasn't a question. She already knew. "It's too intimate."

"But you asked her to."

I nodded. I still couldn't figure out exactly why I had done that. Everyone called me Dr. Cullen, or just Cullen. That included the women I dated, and it included Dr. Maguire. I had been coming here for eight years, but we had never moved to first names because I didn't want the intimacy. I could tell her every convoluted detail of my personal history, but I couldn't stand for her, or anyone else, to use my name.

For more than twenty years, Esme had been the only exception. And now Bella was, too.

"Tell me why."

We had done this before, explored the reasons why I had impulsively asked Bella to use my first name, and the answers tended to be different every time. Dr. Maguire seemed to think it was important, and she was probably right.

"I didn't really expect us to develop much of a relationship," I said. "Though . . . I'm not sure I was thinking about the future at the time."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Her," I said simply. "She was so vulnerable. She had just been hurt by someone she loved, and yet she still left herself open to being hurt again. I didn't want to be the person who did that. I wanted to be someone she could trust."

"Does she know that it's difficult for you to hear your first name so often?"

I shook my head thoughtfully. "I don't think so. I've never said anything to her, and I'm not sure she's noticed that she's the only one. My Bella . . . she's good to people. If she knew it made me uncomfortable, she wouldn't do it."

"Does your name mean something special to you? Is it a family name?"

I shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't a question she had asked before, though to be honest I was a little surprised that she hadn't, considering my sensitivity about the issue.

"Dr. Cullen?" she prompted when I didn't answer.

"I don't know," I said, a little too sharply. "My parents didn't sit around telling sentimental stories about how I was named."

She arched an eyebrow. She was too good at what she did to believe that was the whole story. "But. . . ."

I forced myself to keep my hands still and loose, not clenched into fists. Anger was inappropriate and unnecessary. I took a calming breath and answered her question. "The doctor who delivered me was named Dr. Carlisle."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really? Do you think your parents may have had a special relationship with him?"

I rubbed a hand wearily over my forehead. "I think they couldn't be bothered to put any effort into finding a name for me, so they used the first one they saw."

She frowned, but she didn't dispute my theory. She knew there was a good chance I was right. "Let's get back to Bella," she said instead. "You've gotten closer to her than you intended to."

I nodded.

"And the longer you stay with her, the more attached you become."

I nodded again, a sense of foreboding prickling at the hairs on the back of my neck.

"How does this end?"

Imagining the end of my relationship with Bella was suffocating. I liked it too much. It was so comfortable, so easy, the quiet evenings with her, the nights spent wrapped around her beautiful body. To lose that, to have to go back to nights out with unfamiliar women, performing for the public, dodging the incessant questions that were the hallmark of a new relationship . . . I didn't want it. Not yet.

And my Bella, my sweet, naïve girl who loved with her whole heart . . . what would it do to her?

"She'll get hurt," I said softly.

"Just her?"

I raised my eyes, meeting Dr. Maguire's challenge, and shook my head.

"It seems a little self-destructive, doesn't it? How much longer will you participate in a relationship that is going to hurt you both?"

I leaned forward on my knees, staring at the floor. Dr. Maguire wasn't one to let me escape the guilt—and there was plenty of it. It was cruel of me to let Bella care about me when she didn't know what I was, but I couldn't seem to help myself. Her presence was soothing, and I badly needed the comfort. Somehow she always seemed to know when to push me and when to let up. And when she had come to me on _that_ day and helped me through the worst of it. . . .

I hadn't been prepared for how that would feel. I wasn't prepared for how I felt now.

"Let's try one of my silly hypotheticals," Dr. Maguire suggested.

I nearly groaned. Of all the things she put me through in our therapy sessions, these were the most painful.

"Let's say you and Bella don't split up." She put up a hand to stop me before I could argue. "I know, it's not going to happen. Indulge me."

I nodded reluctantly.

"Think about what it would look like," she said, and then fell silent, letting me do her exercise.

It was a small mercy that she didn't expect me to tell her what I was picturing. I would have felt obligated to explain why it wasn't possible, but here inside my own head, I could just allow myself to live in the fantasy.

And the fact was, it looked beautiful. What I envisioned was much like what we had now—quiet evenings, blissful nights. Eventually Bella would be starting a new career, and though I didn't know what she intended to do, there was a good chance that she would have to keep odd hours for a few years. I let myself pretend that the stress wouldn't get to me, that there wouldn't be any heated arguments like I'd had with Esme, that I wouldn't lose my hold on my temper. Instead I focused on how we would get through—stolen moments between work shifts, sleepy encounters in at odd hours, flowers sent to her office to remind her that I . . .

That I loved her.

I wasn't ready to deal with that thought yet, so I pushed it aside and focused on the details of our imaginary life together. Of course, I'd have to get her out of that apartment of hers. There was something endearing about the fact that she didn't mind the cramped, run-down living space, but if we were thinking long-term she would have to move in with me.

And that was where things got complicated. If she lived with me she would have to know. I would have to show her Edward's room, and I would have to tell her what I had done.

She would never stay with me if she knew.

"It's impossible," I whispered.

Dr. Maguire nodded. "I understand." She glanced at the clock on her desk and smiled. "Well, Dr. Cullen, it looks like I'm finished torturing you for today. I'll see you in a couple of weeks?"

I nodded and stood.

"Oh, and Doctor? I wouldn't mind meeting Bella. You should feel free to invite her along any time."

I smiled sadly. "We'll see."

I ached to see Bella. I hoped all the way home that she would be back from her shopping trip, but when I pulled into the parking lot the apartment was dark. It was just as well. Therapy sessions were always stressful for me, and it would be nice to have some time to decompress.

I headed inside and took my things to her bedroom, straightening up a little while I was there. Bella liked things well-ordered, and I tried to curb my natural tendency toward clutter when I was in her apartment. As I moved some clothes from the floor to the hamper, I got distracted by the broken picture frame that sat on top of Bella's dresser, waiting to be replaced. The picture inside was of Bella and her mother, at what Bella told me was her mother's bachelorette party. The two of them gazed out of the damaged frame with laughing eyes, and the happiness I saw in Bella's face never failed to warm me. I saw the same look in her eyes nearly every day, and I wished I could claim responsibility for putting it there.

I couldn't though. The happiness had been there long before I had entered her life. Every day I had seen her in the library, even after she had split up with her boyfriend, it was there. It had drawn me to her, had left me casting surreptitious glances at her during those long evenings when inspiration was slow in coming and the words wouldn't flow. On those nights I had watched her as she bent over her schoolwork, chewing on her lip or winding a lock of hair around her fingers. I had always been fascinated by the joyful aura that surrounded her.

It reminded me a little bit of Edward. In every photograph I had seen of him his face shone with happiness, and every time I had slipped into the back of a crowded room to watch as he was awarded some honor or another, he had commanded the attention of everyone present. On his graduation day, I could have sworn he had been the only one to set foot on the stage.

Edward and Bella would be well-suited for one another, I realized. My son deserved someone like Bella, with her sweetness and generosity of spirit. And she could certainly do better than me.

I looked away from the picture and stripped off my tie, moving to the closet to hang it up. If Bella was feeling anything close to the way I was tonight, she would be tugging off the tie as soon as she walked in the door anyway. I smiled to myself as I slid a stack of essays out of my laptop bag to read over while I waited for my girl to get home.

Not that I expected to get much work done. I was thoroughly distracted by the memory of Bella's tight little body beneath mine, her slim thighs wrapped around my waist and her breasts pressed against my chest. I planned to spend the evening exploring that memory thoroughly, at least until she got home and I could create a new one.

I was so distracted by thoughts of her that I didn't notice at first that the usually-empty coffee table was littered with various items that seemed to have come out of a cardboard box that sat on the floor to one side. I scanned the brightly-colored piles, and it was another second before the nature of the items sank in.

Realization hit me like a punch to the stomach. I staggered backward, and the essay papers slipped out of my hand, catching the air and scattering themselves across the floor. I barely noticed. I moved slowly toward the coffee table, disregarding the crinkle of paper under my feet, and reached down to pick up a tiny green and yellow T-shirt with a stylized lion sewn onto the front.

Baby clothes. In Bella's apartment.

"No," I whispered in horror. "Oh, god, no."

I dropped the little shirt and ran to the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet and emptying the contents of my stomach. For a moment that was all there was, just me and the wracking nausea that ripped through me, but it didn't last long enough.

As I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth in the sink I tried to convince myself that this wasn't what it looked like. Bella had to be holding onto these things for a friend, or she had bought someone a baby shower gift.

A lot of them.

Except, in my office earlier that day, she had told me she needed to talk to me about something. She had looked so anxious, so unsure of herself . . . no wonder she hadn't wanted to discuss it in front of Diego.

Bella was pregnant. My Bella. The girl I loved, the girl I couldn't let go of, even though I knew it would be better for her if I did.

I dried my face and hands on a towel and moved on shaky legs back to the living room. I kept my gaze studiously averted from the coffee table, kneeling on the floor and collecting the scattered essay papers. I gathered them into a neat stack and carried them back into the bedroom, tucking them away in my bag. My gaze fell on the photograph on the dresser again, and a sharp pain throbbed in my chest.

I had to leave her. It wasn't a choice. It was one thing to risk the safety of a strong, capable adult by getting too close, but a child?

I couldn't.

I looked around the room, my eyes picking out those possessions of mine that had slowly started to find places here among Bella's—the things I needed to start collecting to take with me. But I couldn't do it. I wanted these thing here. I wanted my clothes hanging in her closet, the change from my pocket scattered on her dresser, my cufflinks resting on the table beside her bed. Somehow it didn't feel right to remove them.

But I couldn't stay.

I lifted my bag onto my shoulder and turned my back on the space I had shared with Bella, the space I had spent the happiest moments of the last twenty years, and I walked out of the apartment. I locked the door behind me and debated leaving the key, but decided it wouldn't be safe. The point of all this was to keep her safe, after all. So I held on to it.

I trudged out to my car and slid behind the wheel, my mind reviewing every moment I had spent with Bella since the evening she had allowed me to drive her home. She shouldn't have—she was too trusting—but I couldn't bring myself to wish she hadn't.

I drove on auto-pilot, not really paying attention to where I was going, but I couldn't have said I was particularly surprised when I found myself pulling into the lot of a small liquor store. It had been a long time since I had come here last—years, probably. But I needed it tonight. If I was going to leave Bella I needed to dig deep and tap into the harder part of myself. Liquor was the shortcut.

As I paid for the bottle of cognac, though, I thought about how Bella would take it. We had agreed to a temporary relationship with no strings attached, and I had jumped at the offer because I wanted her so badly. But I knew if I walked away without an explanation she would take responsibility for it. She would blame herself, would wonder what she had done wrong.

It wasn't fair to her.

I needed to go back. I needed to explain why I was leaving, tell her what I had done to Esme. That way she wouldn't miss me. She would probably be relieved that I was gone, and she might even learn to be more careful about the men she allowed into her life.

It was the right thing to do, I decided, but it was intimidating. I had never told anyone other than the occasional therapist what had happened with Esme. Telling Bella promised to be the hardest thing I ever had to do. I didn't want to see the way she looked at me when she discovered exactly what kind of a man I was.

Nevertheless, I made my way back to her apartment and let myself back in. She still wasn't home, and I was again grateful for the opportunity to compose myself. I left the lights off, despite the gathering darkness outside, and grabbed a glass from the kitchen before settling onto the couch with the bottle of cognac.

I stared blankly at the table full of baby paraphernalia before me, unable to keep my mind from traveling back to the memory of a night more than two decades ago. I had put in a full day of classes and work, and had come home to find Esme on the couch, sobbing pitifully. I remembered the fear and despair in her eyes as she had told me the news—the best news I had ever heard in my life. She was pregnant, carrying _my_ child. But she was terrified.

I remembered the joy I had felt, the way I had held her and kissed her, promising her over and over again that I would be there for her, that I would take care of her and the baby.

And I remembered how I had failed her. How angry she had been when I walked away from her, how she had thrown those promises back at me. I had wanted so badly to keep them, to be the man she needed me to be, but I had to face reality. I wasn't the kind of man who could have a family. I couldn't be trusted.

I drained my first glass of cognac and allowed myself to continue the fantasy I had started in Dr. Maguire's office. What if Bella and I didn't split up? What if I didn't have to leave her? What if I could have a second chance at being a father? Instead of quiet evenings and stolen moments, I pictured us with a son, a boy who looked rather like Edward had in his baby pictures. I imagined all the things I had missed—holding him for the first time at the hospital, late night bottles, first words, first steps, crayon drawings taped to the refrigerator, and cheering him on at Little League games. Milestones as he aged—talking him through the nerves of his first date, teaching him to drive. . . .

I'd be at retirement age by the time he was ready to start college.

I refilled my glass and gulped it down, feeling the punishing burn of the alcohol. I was a fool. None of the things I imagined could ever be. Because long before any of those things happened, I would hurt him, or his mother, or both of them. I wouldn't be teaching Bella's son to drive, because he would hate me by the time he came of age. They both would. I had discovered long ago that I wasn't cut out for a family, and starting this whole thing over again would only hurt the people I loved.

I wondered briefly who the child's father was. The ex-boyfriend, probably. Mike. Though I knew it wasn't entirely unlikely that Bella had been with someone else after the two of them split up; it was possible that she didn't even know the father of her child. So what would she do? Would she quit school, like Esme had? Who would be there to help her with the bills and expenses?

For a moment I considered offering financial support, but I didn't feel right about it. Supporting someone else's child meant taking from Edward. He had plenty, I knew, and his mother and step-father provided more than adequate support for him these days, yet it still felt disloyal. Edward was entitled to everything I had. I couldn't give away something that never really belonged to me.

It pained me to think of Bella facing this alone, though. I hoped the father would step in and take care of her. I hoped he would be good to her. But it destroyed me to think of another man taking the place I wanted so badly.

Again.

After the third glass of cognac, I was starting to get reacquainted with the ugly side of myself that I had been burying for so long. How well I remembered the anger, the simmering resentment. How easy it was to blame others for what had happened to me. I certainly hadn't brought this on myself. It was Bella's fault, her ex-boyfriend's fault, God's fault. Hell, I could probably lay it all at the feet of my parents again. They were easy scapegoats.

I was working my way through my fourth glass when I heard the rumble of Bella's truck engine. I gulped the strong liquid down quickly and filled the glass again, steeling my nerves.

"I don't love her," I whispered. "I forgot how to love a long time ago."

Maybe if I said it enough, I would start to believe it.

The door swung open and the kitchen light flickered on, but I couldn't look her way. I didn't want to see her face. I wasn't sure I could handle the disappointment in her eyes when she heard what I was about to tell her.

"Hey," she said, sounding reserved.

I nearly broke down at the sound of her sweet, gentle voice. I took another quick drink, letting the sharp burn re-center me, and got right to the point. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

I heard the rattle of her keys against the tabletop, listened to her soft, cautious step. "Yeah. You haven't been worrying about it, have you? It's really not a big deal."

It was shocking how quickly my temper could flare, and how hot the anger could burn. I swallowed back the rest of my drink to keep from lashing out at her, and I used the brief seconds to compose myself. "I'd say it's a pretty big deal."

"Are we talking about the same thing?"

I locked my eyes on the surface of the coffee table, on the scattering of items that had turned my world upside down. "I would hope so, Bella. I would hope this isn't something you would try to hide from me."

I heard her let out her breath in a rush, and then she laughed almost giddily. "How long have you been sitting here torturing yourself?"

_Twenty-one years._

I ground my teeth in frustration as I set my glass down next to the book of baby names on the coffee table. She wasn't taking this seriously. She had no concept of how drastically her life was about to change.

"Relax, Carlisle," she said, dropping down next to me on the couch, "it's not yours."

"I know it's not mine!" I snapped, whipping my head around to glare at her. "Do you really think I haven't taken steps to make sure I didn't have this problem?"

She looked startled, and the hand she had placed on my knee fisted around the fabric of my slacks. She raised the other to my face in a gesture I assumed was meant to be soothing, but I had no interest in being soothed. I jerked away, and her hand fell back into her lap.

"It's not mine either."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. Not hers. Not her baby.

I wasn't sure I believed it.

"Why do you have this?" I asked, staring at the baby clothes again.

"They're gifts. For Jacob's sister."

Jacob's sister. Someone else's baby. I grabbed her arms, turning her to face me, desperate to see the truth of it in her eyes. "You're not pregnant?"

"No."

"You're absolutely sure."

She nodded, looking bewildered.

The relief was so strong I thought I might drown in it. She wasn't pregnant. I didn't have to lose her.

Yet.

I realized how hard I was gripping her arms and I forced myself to let go, sagging back against the couch in relief. Bella scooted close to me, and I curled my arm around her, grateful for the reprieve, however temporary it had to be.

"I don't quite understand why you're so upset," she said softly. "I mean, if you knew you couldn't have gotten me pregnant. . . ."

I raised my eyes to the ceiling, battling with myself. Could I tell her now? Could I admit to her what I was and risk losing her anyway?

"Did you think I was cheating on you?" she asked abruptly.

God, my sweet girl. So painfully innocent. I pulled her into my lap and dropped my head onto her shoulder, drawing in a trembling breath so I could experience her scent again.

"I assumed it was Mike's," I murmured.

"Oh . . . I still don't understand. Mike's kid wouldn't be your responsibility."

Dread settled heavily in my stomach. This was a moment I would have given anything to avoid. Bella wanted to know why I was reacting so strongly, and she deserved to hear the truth. But could I tell her? Could I give her up?

Would I ever stop paying for that night?

"If you get pregnant, Bella . . . if you have a child . . . I can't be with you."

"I know," she said softly. She sounded sad, but she wasn't pushing anymore. She wasn't asking for an explanation. And like a coward, I took the out she was offering.

"I'm not ready to lose you yet," I whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere."

I needed those words—needed them like an addict needs his next hit—but the price was so high. I was lying to her, risking her safety, and yet I couldn't stop. I couldn't let her go.

I had to make sure this didn't happen again, even after she left me. She had to be kept safe.

"Are you on birth control?" I asked her.

"No."

I jerked back angrily, glaring at her incredulously. "_Why not?_"

"Because we use condoms," she said with a scowl. "It's not like we're going to stop doing that even if I do get on birth control."

No, we most certainly were not, but I didn't like the resentment in her tone. "They're not enough," I snapped back. "If you're sexually active and you're not trying to get pregnant, you need to be on birth control." I honestly didn't understand how that wasn't obvious to her. Was the girl born without common sense?

Bella bristled at my words. "_Thank you,_ Dr. Cullen, I really appreciate your _unsolicited_ opinion on the matter."

"Listen to me!" I grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at me, trying to convince her to take me seriously. "You have to protect yourself as much as you can—Listen to me!"

She was trying to jerk away, but I held her still, demanding her attention, trying to teach her the lessons that I had paid such a high price to learn.

"No one else is taking care of you. There will be a million people in your life who promise to be there for you, but the reality is that nobody will actually put forth any effort to keep you safe. It has to be _you_, Bella. You have to keep _yourself_ safe."

Her fingertips brushed my hand, and she stared calmly back at me. "Please let go."

God, I was such an ass. I cringed as I released her jaw, but she caught my hand in hers and held it, offering me forgiveness that I didn't deserve.

"I tried the pill," she explained softly. "It gave me cramps."

Not good enough. "There are other methods."

"My insurance doesn't cover them."

Here, finally, was something I could give her. A few hundred dollars was nothing if it meant protecting her. "I'll take care of it. We'll make you an appointment tomorrow, and I'll cover it."

I was relieved to find a solution to the problem, so I couldn't quite understand it when Bella murmured a quiet "No." She pushed off of my lap and started to stand, but I pulled her back down next to me.

"This isn't something to be careless about, Bella."

"I'm not being careless. We use condoms, and apparently you've _take steps_, so I honestly don't understand what you're worried about."

_You, sweet girl. I'm worried about you. I'm worried that some careless man somewhere will do to you what I did to my Esme, and take away everything you wanted for yourself._

"You won't always be with me," I said softly.

Her face pinched. "Yeah. Thanks for the reminder."

"Bella—"

"I know," she said, cutting me off. "Short term, that's what we both signed on for. I just don't know why the hell you care what happens to me after we're done."

I cared because I loved her. I cared because I couldn't stand to see anything bad happen to her. But I couldn't tell her that, because it would only make things worse when the time came for us to go our separate ways.

"I shouldn't," I said instead, trying not to notice her wince of pain. "It shouldn't have mattered to me whether you had a ride home. Or whether your boyfriend was cheating on you. I shouldn't have been thinking about you when the earthquake hit, and I shouldn't have come here." I took her hand, pressing it between my own. "It was beyond careless of me to start a relationship with you, Bella. But when it comes to you I can't seem to help myself. I care more than I should. More than I want to."

Bella looked confused and unsure, so I pressed a little more, trying to convince her to let me take care of her.

"Let me do this for you," I said, pulling her close and nuzzling her ear softly.

"You know, you're contradicting yourself. You tell me nobody's looking out for me, but isn't that what you're trying to do?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted take care of her, and I wanted her to trust me to do it, but I couldn't let her. She needed to learn to take care of herself. "Just don't ever expect me to do it again."

She was silent for a moment, but then she drew in a breath and spoke confidently, resolutely. "Tell you what? I'll let you make this doctor appointment if, at the same time, we both get tested for STDs."

"All right," I said. It was promising that she was paying attention to such things, but I wasn't sure what she was getting at. "Why?"

She shifted back, grinning, and looked me in the eye. "So I can suck your cock."

A current of pure desire ran through me, but I carefully hid my involuntary reaction. "No."

"Why not?" she frowned. "Do you have something?"

"No. Which, unfortunately, is entirely beside the point."

"How is that beside the point?"

"An negative test result is a false sense of security. By the time we get it back, either of us could have picked something up, and you would never know."

Bella jerked back, looking hurt. "Are you . . . are you saying you're sleeping with someone else?"

Her reaction pained me, but it was what she needed. She had to understand that people were cruel, that they did things to hurt each other all the time. It might have even been beneficial to her if I let her believe I was being unfaithful, but I couldn't make myself hurt her more than I had to. "Of course not. I'm saying you can't trust me not to."

"I do trust you, though."

"Then _stop._" I gripped her hips tightly, wishing desperately that I could force her to understand. "You have a higher opinion of me than you should, Bella. You had a higher opinion of Mike than you should have had. You've got to learn to protect yourself before someone does lasting damage."

Bella moved her hands to my shoulders and massaged gently, her expression unreadable. "Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely not."

Her eyes lowered, and she nodded minutely. "Okay," she finally said quietly. "If it will make you happy, I'll go on birth control."

I could see the hurt in her eyes, and I pressed a hand to her cheek, caressing the velvet skin beneath my fingers. "I'm sorry, Bella. I don't mean to be cruel, but I can't stress strongly enough how important it is to me to know that you're safe. In my position, I see a lot of people whose lives are damaged by carelessness. I don't want you to be one of them."

"I'll give you this," she said, shifting closer to me. "Because you're right, I'm not careful enough. I'll do better. But I refuse to accept that you're not worthy of my high opinion of you."

"Bella—"

"No." She touched a fingertip to my lips. "On this one thing I get to be as reckless as I want, and that's just something you're going to have to accept."

My heart ached with love for her, and with regret that I wasn't the man she believed me to be. "You deserve better."

Her lovely smile lit up her face. "Do I? Tell me what I deserve."

I kissed her gently. "You deserve to be loved, Bella. You deserve to come first, to be the most important part of a man's life."

_You deserve everything I can't give you._

"I intend to have that," she said decisively. "And one of these days I'll get around to pursuing it. But for now, I'm perfectly happy with the way things are." She climbed to her feet and grabbed my hand, pulling me up with her. "Now come to bed with me, so I can apologize properly for the heart attack I gave you with all this baby stuff."

My chest tightened at her words. The image of my mother on her knees in front of my father flashed before my eyes, followed quickly by one of Esme kneeling at my feet, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes.

"You don't have to apologize," I choked.

"No, I _get_ to," she said playfully. "Come on, Carlisle. The make-up sex is the fun part."

I swallowed hard, trying to force the images out of my head as I followed after her. I removed her clothes and reverently kissed my way across her body, helping her put this night behind her, letting her think that nothing would change. Then I laid her back on the bed and I used her, desperately, shamelessly, reassuring myself that I didn't have to lose her just yet.

As she was gasping for breath beneath me, slowly coming down from her high, I buried my face in her hair and whispered a soft prayer, asking God to protect my Bella from me and from anyone else who might hurt her, and begging Him to let me have her for just a little while longer.


End file.
